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THE MOISTTANINI 



THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



com:h;i3Ies 



BEING IN CONTINUATION AND COMPLETION 
OF THE FOURTH VOLUME OF THE DRAMATIC SERIES 



LAUGHTON OSBORN 




NEW YORK 

JAMBS MILLER, 647 BROADWAY 

MDCCCLXVIII 






^u* 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by 

I, A U,G HTON OSBORN, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the XTmted States for the 
Southern District of New York. 



'Ihe New York Printing Compann 
, Si, 83, and 8s Centre St., 
New York. 



4r 

THE MOI^TAIsri:iiri' 

MDCCCLVI 



CHARACTERS, etc. 

Carlo pi Tomma'so Montanino,'^ | Young nobles 

Ippol'ito de' Salimbeni,^ \ of rival families. 

Gas'paro Beccari, one of the Nine Magistrates of the City. 

GriAc'oMO GtRADENAta, « citizeu of honorable but decayed family. 

Gianni, aged servant of Carlo. 
Antonello, servant of Ippolito. 
Captain of Shirri. 

Angelica, Carlo's sister. » 

Cornelia, Ippolito's sister. 

DoMiciLLA, his maiden aunt. 

Camilla Volpicina^, a tuidov), sister of Giacomo. 

Barbara, Angelica's maid. 

Mute Persons. 
Sbirri. a Jailer. 



Scene. In Siena, in the T. 1322. 



THE MO]^TA]^I]:^I 



AottheFirst 

Scene I. In the Palazzo Montanini. 

Carlo. Angelica. Beccaei. 

Carlo. I have said enough, Ser Grasparo Beccari.* 
Tou cannot have the farm. 

Becc. "Well, make it ten. 
A thousand golden florins is a price 
None but myself vs^ould offer. ISTeed I say, 
'Tis solely that our tvro estates adjoin, 
I bid so largely ? 

Carlo. But you bid in vain : 
It is my sole possession, save this house. 
And knov?-ing this muchi I vvohder you should strive 
To oust me from it. 

Becc. Messer Montanino, 
Vol. IV.— 12 



266 THE MONTANINI 



You will perhaps not easily lend belief, 
That I, of the Vulgar people who have driven 
Tour overbearing order from the State, 
And who, being of the people, have been made 
One of their magistrates, thus bound to see 
That such of you as we suffer to remain 
Lift not their heads in the city, to o'erride it 
And bring again the rule of noble blood 
And servile vassalage of poor to rich. — 

Tou '11 not believe that I, being such, should feel 

I weary you perhaps, or chafe ? 

Carlo. Not either. 
My humble fortune teaches me to bear ; 
Nor was I born impatient. 

Becc. That, I say. 
Being what I am, I have charity for you 
A noble of old blood, you will not credit. 
But I am Christian more than in my faith. 
And hold all men my brothers. "When I think 
How great your sires, how wealthy, and how proud, 
"Whose arms are everywhere — on palace-gate 
And castle-tower, yet all of which have pass'd 
To other, and to mostly meaner hands, 

As you would deem them 

Carlo. 'Twas my sires" own fault. 

Becc. Truly. They wasted upon private feuds 

The blood and treasure should have serv'd the State. 

Carlo. Pass over that. You do not keep me here 
To tell me that my ancestors were fools ? 



ACT I. SO. 1. 267 

Becc. I do not keep you here, I hope, at all. 

That I am come, is even for what I said. 

Shall I have Ucense to explain myself? 

When I consider all your glorious past, 

And see what you are now : these palace-walls, 

Wherein might dwell a hundred cavaliers 

Nor yet be crowded, cheerless now and bare, 

Without perhaps one chamber meetly furnish'd 

For such a presence as your lady-sister's 

{his eyes, which have glanced around the room with 
half-covert modcery, noiu resting with O'pen admira- 
tion on Angelica. 
Carlo. Messer Beccari ! does your Christian heart 

Bid you insult my 

Becc. Poverty ? Now Heaven 

Grive you more insight, and make known your friends I 

My Christian heart, Messere Montanino, 

Bids me have pity both of you and yours. 

I find you hving in this stately house 

Straighten'd by indigence, with means sufficient 

Scarcely to keep yourselves, and one small maid, 

And an old porter, safe from winter's cold. 

I offer for your farm a liberal price. 

Which properly invested would enlarge 

Tour narrow income : and to show I act 

With a pure sympathy for you, and yours, 

[looking again at Angelica. 

Make now the ten twelve hundred. If the farm 

Is pretty, it is small. 



268 THE MONTANINI 



Carlo. But large enough, 
To give me here that hving which, if mean, 
I not complain of, certainly not to you. 
Messer Beccari, it may be — I hope 
Truly it is — that you are well my friend. 
So rest : but give me leave to plainly teli you, 
My enemy Salimbene would not speak 
With such disparagement. If my fallen estate 
Touch you with sympathy, keep it in your breast. 
'T is friendship to alleviate distress ; 
But to remind the sufferer of his wo 
Looks more like malice. 

Becc. Heaven is my judge, 
I meant it well. I pray you be not bUnd. 
For your sweet sister's sake, subdue this pride. 
Will you nbt make provision for a future 
So rich in promise, as hers must be whose present 
Is full of grace ? [again looking admiringly on Angelica. 
Carlo, [with some asperity, hut without passion. 
Ser Grasparo Beccari, 
You can, I think, find out your way alone. 
I have but one male servant, as you said. 
And he is old. 
With a slight and distant inclination, but without 
disdain, Carlo, putting through his own the 
arm of Angelica, who, for the greater 
part of the dialogue, has stood lean- 
ing with her left hand on Carious 
right shoulder, leads her out. 



ACT I. sc. 2. 269 

Becc. [with a low, hut deep utterance. 
The devil take thy pride, 
Thou last green scion of a blasted tree ! — 
But she ! How dark this desolate house appears 
Now she is vanish'd ! With what grace she lean'd 
On her stiff brother I Not the fairest form 
Of all the yeUow marbles of old G-reece, 
Not the most delicate of the dainty Three 
Men call the Graces, which my father's day 
Saw disinterr'd where stand the Duomo's walls," 
Has such an attitude. Ah ! could I gain her ! 
And ruin him ! — Perhaps, to ruin him 
Would be to gain her. She adores the beggar. 
And would do aught to save him. — Let me think. 

l^Exit— pensively. 



Scene IL 

In the house of Giacomo. 

G-iACOMO, Camilla. 

Q-iac. Yes, that I do ! By Paul ! I doubt him much. 
Beccari is but fooling thee. 

Camil. Fooling me f 
Giac. Tea, thee, Camilla Widow Volpicina. 



270 THE MONTANIia 



Is that impossible, I should like to know ? 

Camil. Griacomo Bachelor Gradenata, ay ; 

If that thou mean'st that Gasparo Beccari, 
Were he twice the man he is, could cozen me, 
And I not know it. But thou dost him wrong. 

He loves me, and 

Giac. Why don't he wed thee then ? 
Since he first woo'd thee, it is now two years. 
He does not wait for either to grow old. 

Camil. No, nor grow young : we both are young enough, 
And can afford to dally. 'Tis so sweet 
The hour of courtship that I wonder not 
Men should prolong it ; and for me, I care not 
To hasten on the time when I must cease 
To rule as mistress and be rul'd as slave. 

Giac. That 's talk for a widow, now ! By holy Paul ! 
I don't believe a word of it I Tell me truly ; 
Dost thou love Gasparo then ? 

Camil. My brother, yes. 
Else would I wed him ? 

Qiac. [laughing harshly. 

What a fox thou art ! 
But I am not a goose. A loving widow. 
And like long courtships I Thou 'rt a jet-black swan. 
Dost thou forget, my sentimental sister, 
Tliat we are poor, and Gasparo the rich 
May fancy some one who is more his mate ? 
He 's a republican, and upholds, thou knowest, 
A pure equality. 



ACT I. sc. % 271 

Camil. Sorrow on thy jests ! 
They are Uke the eye of a serpent : and thy laugh 
Is pleasant as its hiss. 

Giac. Meek-thoughted sister ! 
Camil. Thou art a friend of Grasparo's. — 

Qiac. Ay, his friend. 
And he is mine : I use him. But I do 
Distrust him damnably. I wish he 'd wed thee. 
Camil. And so he will. What is the match to thee ? 
Chiac. 'T would leave one weight the less upon my mind, 
And make at least one Gradenata rich. 
Thou knowest thy charms : it is not I, tliat bill 
And coo with G-asparo : but he '11 jilt thee, see I 
For thou art poor. 

Camil. And he is rich for both. 
Besides, I bring him what he lacks. 

Qiac. What 's that ? 
Long hair and beardless lips ? 

Camil. What most he prizes : - 
Grood birth and stainless lineage. If I stoop'd 
To wed the notary Batto Volpicina, 
I shall not raise the Gradenate high 
By looking on a butcher's son. 

Oiac. He 's here. 

Enter Beccari. 

Becc. What, my fair Volscian, though not Dian's nymph.' 
He takes her hand, though somewhat constrainedly. 



272 THft MONTANINI 



Camil. [As he holds her hands, 

looking intently in his eyes. (He looks aside.) 
I am glad to see thee, G-asparo ; but I fear, 
Thou art not well to-day. 

Becc. Why so? ISTotwell? 
Camil. Or art not glad to see me in thy turn. 
Becc. Poh, child ! that is but fancy. Yet I am 

In sooth disturb'd : a slight affair gone wrong — 

The business of the State 

[looJcs at Giacomo significantly, then at Camilla, 
and at the door (not unobserved by Camilla). 
Thy brother and I 
Will talk it over. 

Giac. Camilla, for awhile, 
Leave us alone. 

Camil. I hope thy brow will clear 
By my return, dear G-asparo ; but methinks 
Thou'lt find poor help for business of the State 
In Giacomo's unus'd brain, [going up. 

Becc. 0, 'tis not much — 
A small affair, I said. [Exdi Camil. by a door above — turn- 
ing round and smiling on Becc. as she disappears. 

Beccari and Giacomo bring down chairs. 

[Mrst loolcing round at the door.l How goes it with thee ? 
Has thy luck turn'd, my friend? 

Giac. By Bacchus ! no 1 
I'm devilishly us'd up. I hope, Beccari, 
Thou wilt not soon be asking for thy gold ? 



ACT I. SO. 2. 273 

Becc. ISTo, I would rather lend thee twice as much, 

So thou might'st win that back. But truly, Griacomo, 

Thou 'rt a sad spendthrift ; and I dread to think, 

"What with thy dice and women, thou' mayst come 

One day to ruin. 

Oiac. No, I know my verge : 

I* shall stop short of it. But 'tis not spending 

Too fast or much, but little, keeps me down. 

Just when my luck is turning, lo, I stop ! 

Tor want of more to venture. Cursed fate ! 

Becc. What was thy last loss ? 

Giac. Five and twenty florins. 

Pio Birban'te offer'd me revenge. 

I could not take it; and he laugh' d, pest on him ! 

Becc. Thou think'st thou couldst have won again ? 

Oiac. Am sure. 

Thus stood the game : I'll show thee how. — 

Becc. No matter. 

Thou'dst like again to venture ? ® 

Oiac. But I shame 

Again to ask thee, Gasparo. 

Becc. Poll 1 shame not. 

Shall we not soon be brothers ? Let me see. 

Now, I will venture four times twenty-five, 

And double that, so thou wilt do for me 

Something in turn. 

Oiac. [suspiciously. 

Eh ! 'T is some mischief. 

Becc. Pil 
12* 



274 THE MONTANINI 

Thy old distrust I How prompt thou art to borrow, 
But slow to lend ! 

Oiac. [starting wp? 

Come, Gasparo Beccari, 
This is too much 1 I am not, man, thy slave. 
Becc. No, but thou art thy passions'. Look thou now ! 
What a poor way ward, tetchy thing thou art ! 
Suspecting me ; but, when I in return 

Tax thee with scanty kindness 

Oiac. By St. John ! 

Thou didst reproach me Blisters on my tongue! 

I shame to mention it. 

Becc. Thou hast no cause. 
Come, set thee down. I say — thou hast no cause."* 
I had no thought of money. And if I had. 
Are we not brothers ? Thou wouldst do for me 
As much, were my lot thine. I wish it were." 
Qiac. Well, that is kindly. I will take thy offer. 
I '11 try my luck once more, and then leave off 
When I have won enough. 

Becc. Why, that is wise. 
Giac. [agai7i suspiciousli/. 
Thou mockest. 

Becc. On my soul! But only try 

Largely. I '11 back thee, till thou hast made thyself 
Giac. Wilt thou ? [seizing his hand. 

That's brave ! But what is to be done ? 
By Jupiter ! this much will call for much. 
Or I mistake thee. 'T is the state-affair ; 



ACT I. SC. 2. 275 

Eh, my Beccari ? 

Becc. Psha ! that was a blind. 
Camilla has sharp eyes.^^ 

Thou knowest, I think, 
How I have long'd to buy that little farm 
In the sweet vale of Strove, next my own. 

The beggar Montanino 

Oiaa. Speak more low ; 
Camilla has quick ears." 

Becc. 'T is well reminded. 
What was that noise ? Come out, to the open air. 
Close walls are not for secrets. [Exit, leading out Qiac. 
Ccurnil. [coming in from the door. 
Say'st thou so ? 
Why so it is then. Thou hast stopp'd my ears. 
I hardly think thou 'It put out both my eyes. 
One is for G-iacomo. — [Pondering.'] Montanino, eh ? — 
And thou hast long'd to buy his little farm ? — 
He '11 not then sell it. — And my brother brib'd 
Through his pernicious vice. — Here is some plot. 
Ah ha ! And thou a magistrate ! 'T is well. 
I '11 be at the bottom of this before thou knowest. 
Then try to shake me from thee, an' thou dare ! 
Thou think'st I love thee. I should love to be 
The mistress of thy household. And I will, 

Qoes up the stage again, towards the door : 
and Scene closes. 



276 THE MONTANINI 



Scene III. 

The Piazza del Campo 

with the Fonte Oaja. 

Barbara 

is seen dipping a terra-cotta jntcher of antique form into 

the Fountain. She raises it to her head, ivhen 

Enter, from the left, 

Antonello. 

Barbara going off to the right as Antonello crosses the stage, 

she holes half-aside, and pretends to hiorry from 

Kim. He arrests her. 

Anton. Eh, barbarous Barbara! whither off so fast? 
Don't our ways He together ? Stop a little ! 
Nobody 's looking. There, [looking about him, 

snatches a kiss. 
Thou 'rt quite a blossom ! 
Barb. If our ways lie together, saucy Nello, 

Yet our two houses, please, stand quite apart. 

The Montanini [affecting grandeur] have no consort with 

The Salimbeni. 

Anton. Better if they had. 
Barb. Come, that's a deal too impudent. Dost think, 
Because we are poor, we 're not as proud as you ? 
1 have seen thy master look prodigious sweet 



ACT I. SC. 3. 277 

On my sweet mistress. 

Anton. Hast thou ? So have I. 
"Would n't it be a blessing, eh ! My lord — 

Thy lady — eh ? The Palace in a blaze 

Barb. A blessing that ! — There 's little though to burn. 

[shrugging her shoulders. 
Anton. I meant a blaze of lights, and not of fire. . 
They two made one, my little maid and I 
Might hunt in couples. Eh, my dainty rib ! [pinching her. 
Barb. Ouf ! Don't now ! Get away ! thou 'It make me spill 
My water. And — [looking off the scene. 

St. Domenic ! get thee gone I 
There 's G-ianni coming ! Do go, Nello dear ! 
Anton. Kiss me then, first. 

Barb. Not I ! 

Anton. I sha' n't go then ; 
Nor shalt thou either. 

Barb, [struggling and looking 
off the scene. 
Patience ! — There ! [hissing him. 
And there ! 
[striking him on the ear. 
Anton, [laughing and rubbing his ear. 
I '11 pay thee, Monna Barbara ! 
Exit, at the right, 
while Enter from the same, passing him, Gianni. 

Qian. [looking at him discontented] g 
and shaking his head. 
So — so — so ! 



278 THE MONTANINI 



Always with Antonello. I 'm a-thinking, 

Thou 'dst best have nought to do with Master's foes. 

That 's my idea ! 

Barh. He is n't Master's foe. 
Nor is his master either. 

Oian. I say he is. 
They haye been foes for twice a hundred years. 
Now I And I 'm thinking, thou hadst best come home 
At once. Tliat 's my idea. 

Barh. And my idea 
Is, thou hadst better mind thy own affairs. 
Qian. I am a-minding of my own affairs. 
The Mistress sent for thee. 

Barh. Why couldst thou not 
Say that at once ? [Iiurrying off to right. 

Enter Beccari, from Jeft^ 
and stops her. 

Becc. My pretty Barbara ! What !" 
Both out together ! How will the old house 
Do without one of you ? 

Oian. 'T is n't an old house ; 
And 't will do very well without, I 'm thinking, 
If Master will it. Come away, [to Barb.] Thou 'dst best 
Have nought to do with magistrates, I 'm thinking. 
That 's my idea. [Bxit^ tuith Barh., at right. 
Becc. And so 'tis mine, old fellow. 
Pointing after them. 

scoffingly.] A goodly retinue for a noble house ! 



ACT I. SC. 4. 279 

Thou 'It manage, though, to do without even these, 
I 'm thinking [ynimicking Gianni], Messer Carlo. 

All is ready. 

In a few minutes ! 'T was a hard ado 

To bring my would-be brother to the mark. 
I bad him high. He 'd sell his soul to the Devil 
For means to game with. Even such fools does vice, 
When grown a habit, make of men ! — I '11 walk 
About this place, until the work be done, 
And glut my soul with that proud beggar's shame. 
He looks down the street where Barbara, &c., 
had disappeared, and 
Scene closes. 



Scene IV. 



In the Palazzo Montanfni. Angelica's Apartment. 

Angelica seated embroidering. 

Carlo stands behind her, looking abstractedly on her work. 

After a few moments, 

Carlo. Angelica — I cannot drive from mind 

That man's presumption. And it wakens now — 
What memory, think'st thou ? — Salimbene's looks 
Bent on my sister with such fond regard. 



280 THE MONTANINI 



Angel, {confused, and lending low over her work, 
which she discontinues. 
' Oh Carlo I thou wouldst not compare the two ? 
Carlo. Now God forbid ! I would -not be unjust 
Even to an enemy. Leave thy work awhile. 

They come forward. 

He puts his right arm round her waist, and 

takes her left hand in his left. 

Now tell me, sweet : has Salimbene ever 
Given token of a wish to come more near ? 

Angel, [with eyes cast down. 

Never, my brother, more than thou hast seen. 
When from my way to church with Barbara sole 
He meets me passing, bowing reverent-low, 
With head unbonneted, he yields the path 
As any noble cavalier might do 
To noble damsel of a neighboring house." — 

Carlo. Even though an enemy's. And that is all ? 

Angel. And that is all. 

Carlo. And tak'st thou not, sweet sister. 
More pleasure in his homage than in that 
Of other noble cavaher ? — Forgive me ; 
I have no right to call this color here, [pressing his lips to 

her cheek. 
But oh,, forget not, that we stand alone, 
And should be all in all to one another. 

Angel [throiving both her arms about him. 

And we are all in all to one another. 



ACT I. SC. 4. 281 

Carlo, [after pressing her a moment to 

his hreastj lifts her off, and resumes. 
And being alone should watcli with double care 
That not a stain come on our father's name. 
Be charier of thy smiles to Salimbene. 

Angel. I have not been more than courteous that I know ; 
At least, I have never thought to be. Oh why, 
Why, brother, lend thy bosom to distrust ? 
Ippolito Sahmbene, aU men say, 
Is open in heart as visage, and high-soul'd. 

Carlo. Yet he is wealthy : we are very poor. 

Angel. Does wealth exclude all virtue ? 

Carlo. No. Bat men 
Magnify into virtue in the rich 
All that is not bare vice ; as in the poor 
The smallest spot of error swells to sin 
That is enormous. Salimbene's heart 
Has never felt misfortune. What should cloud 
His happy visage ? Plac'd above dependance, 
He needs not feel distrust. So, says the world, 
" Behold a frank and generous-minded man ! " 
Perhaps he is. But I, being poor, if sad 
Am call' d morose ; and if, for I have found 
In my adversity men cold and false, 
Slothful to help and eager to betray, 
I doubt and stand aloof, I am thought suspicious. 
And my reserve set down to gloomy pride. 

A ngel. Oh how they wrong thee, brother ! Let them come 
And ask of me. Thou art not proud, not gloomy ; 



282 THE MONTANINI 



Thou art thyself too generous and true, 
To be suspicious of another's faith. 
Carlo. Thou Uttle flatterer ! What canst thou know ? 
Art thou then of the kind which men suspect ? 
And to be gloomy under thy sweet smiles, 
Why that, my sister, were as one should shiver 
In the glad vernal sunshine. Thou art right : 
I have no ague ; not o' the heart at least. 

Enter Barbara. 

But here is Barbara. Give her now her task, 
And let us go. 

Angelica passes up the stage tvith Barbara, and appears 

to give directions ahout another piece of 

embroidery^ not her own. 

The air of this dull house 
Even here, where it seems lightest, weighs us down. 
What a rough nest for such a dainty bird I [glancing 
round him, and then fondly on 
his sister'' s figure. 
I could for her sake almost see it chang'd 
Even for an enemy's bower. 

Angelica, leaving Barbara at theframe^ 
comes down. 

Angel. What dost say, 
Carlino ? 

Carlo. I was murmuring at Heaven, 



ACT I. SC. 4. 283 

Which, when it made thee all an angel, sweet, 
Forgot thy wings. 

Angel. So I should fly away, 
And leave thee lonely ? Earth is good enough 
With only thee, dear Carlo. 

' Carlo. Come then out. 
The open air is better for us birds. 
The heavens shall be our canopy ; the turf 
A more elastic footing than these boards ; 
The sunshine and the mottled shadows yield 
All that we need to decorate our rooms, 
Nor twit our poverty. 

Noise heard within, like the measured 
tramp of an armed band. • 

What means that noise ? 

Miter Gianni in dismay. 

Oian. my dear master ! here 's the guard broke in. 
Carlo. What are they come for ? 

Gian. For no good, I 'm thinking. 

I could not keep them off. Make haste ! They 're here 1 

Fly, Messer Carlo! hide yourself! do! 
Carlo. Not so. I must be found. 

Angelica dings to her brother^s arm. 
Barbara, who has already left her work, acmes forward, as 

Miter 

a party of Sbirri, headed by their Captain. 

Whom seek ye here ? 



284 THE MONTANINI 



By whose command ? 

Capt. By order of the Nine, 
I come to arrest Ser Carlo Montanino, 
Son of Messer' Tomma'so Montanino. 
You are he, I think. 

Carlo. I am. 'T is some mistake. 
Oian. 'T is some mean villany : that 's my idea. 
Carlo. Hush, good old man ! — On what grounds is this done ? 
Capt. 'T is not my part to answer. Lo, Messere, 
You have my warrant. 

Unfolding it, and, bowing over the seal, 
he hands the parchment to Carlo, who looks over it. 
Carlo. I own it, and obey. 

[returning the warrant. 
Angel. Oh no ! he has done no wrong I It cannot be ! 
let him stay : you can confine him here. 

Capt. Lady, it grieves me 

Carlo. Sister, be assur'd. 
Do not cling to me so ! All will be well. 
Once found their error, I shall soon be back. 
Now there ! Now there ! 

Angel. One moment ! [still clinging. 
Carlo. Oh my heart ! 
'T is my sole terror, that I leave thee here. 
Afflicted and alone. Come then, bear up ! 
Wilt thou not for a little, for my sake? 
There I [kissing her]. Take her, Barbara. So. 

Now, Captain, quickly. 
[hurrying off. 



ACT I. SO. 4. 285 

Angel. Oh Grod ! My brother ! — Take me I take me too ! 

\]mlf-fainting in Carlo's arms. 

Carlo, kissing her on the forehead, puts 

her into the arms of Barbara, and is led off, bending 

his eyes continually on his sister. 

Drop falls. 



286 THE MONTANINI 



Act the Second 

Scene I. In the Palazzo Salimbeni. 

DoMiciLLA. Cornelia. 

Cornel. No, Aunt, I cannot think it. To be glad, 

Ippolito should be spiteful. Yet he is one 

Of the best good-natur'd men in all Siena. 
Domicil. And so he may be, yet be not ill pleas'd 

His enemy is in prison. In my day, 

Men were good haters. But the times are chang'd. 
Cornel. Not in good hating, Aunt. I am sure, if that 

Be a sign of progress, manhood in our day 

Is not degenerate. The Tolome'i 

And Salimbeni hate like Christians still. 
Domicil. They are the heads of two great factions, child. 

Why wilt thou contradict me ? In my day, 

I say, men were not so. 

Cornel. I had no thought 

To contradict thee. Aunt. 

Domicil. Now there, Cornelia I 

Again thou contradictest. In my day, 

Men did not easily forget a wrong. 

Thy brother, thou wilt see, despite his mirth, 

Will find a serious pleasure in the shame 



ACT II. SC. 1. 28'7 

Of Carlo Montanino. 

Cornel. Poor young man ! 
What harm did he do my brother ? 

Domicil. How thou talk'st ! 
Are they not enemies ? 

Cornel. Their foresires were, 
Some generations back. 

Domicil. Then so are they. 
That is inevitable. 

Cornel. dear Aunt! 
Domicil. Why, is he not a friend of the Tolomei ? 
Cornel. But then he is so poor ! what can he do ? 
Think of his desolation, all alone 
With one young sister ; not another left 
Of all his father's house ! 

Domicil. Whose fault is that? 
The sins of the fathers, child, are punish'd down 
To their fourth generation. 'T is the law 
Griven out in thunder from the Mount of Grod. 
Cornel. And writ in the code of Nature, but annull'd 
By later dispensation, in so far 
At least as mortal hands are made to wield 
The rod of Heaven's vengeance. We are told 
Not to take eye for eye and tooth for tooth. 
But lend two cheeks to the striker, and to him 
Who steals our cloak to give the mantle also. 
Domicil. That may be preaching, child, but 'tis not practice. 

At least it was not so, when I was young. 
Cornel. No, then it was taking all. Who filch'd your cloak, 



288 THE MONTANINI 



Was sure to get the mantle, if he could. 

Domicil. And does so now. And so men will, I think, 
Till the end of time. 

Cornel. Why yes ; for so 't is said, 
To him, who much hath, shall be given much. 
And, who hath little, from him shall be reft 
The little that he hath. Poor Montanino, 
Being brought to the verge of ruin by the sin 
Of his wrong-headed ancestors, must now 
Be penn'd up in a dungeon I 

Domicil. For his own. 
'T is coat and cloak most truly. But I doubt 
He has deserv'd to lose them. 

Cornel. my Aunt ! 
With that good heart of thine, how canst thou judge 
So harshly ? And such cause of family feud ! 
'T is but a dog and a wild boar after all ! 

Domicil. No, 't was a man's life taken, Massimino, 
One of the best of the Salimbeni, slain 
By Niccolo Montanino, a wild youth 
Whose heart's blood altogether was not worth 
One drop of Massimino's ! That one drop 
Has bled two hundred years, and still will bleed 
While beats a heart with Montanini's pulse. 

Cornel. Now Heaven forefend I But tell me, dear my aunt, 
How this fell out. I cannot keep the count 
For twice a liundred years. 

Domicil. Ah, times are chang'd! 
In my day, damsels of a noble house 



ACT II. sc. 1. 289 

Knew all their lineage, and could trace their blood 
Back to Rome's consuls, were the race so long. 

Cornel. It must have run a stream as long as the Arbia," 
And not so pure as what supplies our fountains. 

Domicil. Thou art degenerate ! no true Salimbene. 

Cornel. Forgive me, Aunt ; I needs must be amus'd, 
To hear of families whose noble blood 
Bubbled before the she-wolf had a lair.^" 
I thought we were of the oldest and the best. 

Domicil. And so we are, as ancient aad as good 
As the Tolomei. • Then come Saracini, 
And Piccolo'mini, and Malavolti. 
The Montanini are behind all these. — 
But to my tale. 

Two hundred years ago, 
Soon after the great Countess" quit the world, 
Bequeathing to the Pope what was not hers 
To give away, and the Sane'si" freed 
Had not yet driven out their bravest and best, 
And us'd their footcloth for a diadem — 

Cornel. That means', while yet the nobles rul'd. 

Doraicil. What else ? 

Upon a certain day, a numerous party 

Of high-born youth rode out to hunt the boar. 

On the return, discoursing of their feats, 

Whose hounds were foremost, strongest, and most bold, 

The Sahmbeni claim'd the day as theirs, 

The Montanini theirs. The strife wax'd hot. 

From words it came to blows : and swords were drawn : 
Vol. IV.— 13 



290 THE MONTANINI 



And Niccolo Montanino, mad with rage, 
Smote Massimino of the Salimbeni 

Dead on the field. Thence vengeance. Thence the feud ; 
Which rag'd, at intervals, twice eightscore years ; 
Till, stript of all their castles, and their race 
Almost exhausted, (for the Salimbeni, 
The richest and most widely branching house 
In all Siena, greatly overmatch'd them,) 
The Montanini quench'd, the fire burn'd out. 
But there the cinders, are, and smoulder still. 
Cornel. And who would stir them? Not* my brother, sure. 
Poor Montanino ! if thy sires were bloody. 
Thy beggar'd fortunes and thy dwindled race 
Have made atonement! 

Domicil. Why, Cornelia, child I 
Thou hadst better fall in love with Messer Carlo, 
And build the house up ! 

Cornel. Not so far as that : 
I am no mason. But I tell thee. Aunt, 
Light as I am, I have reason strong enough, 
And heart I hope, to hold these feuds in horror. 
And more, I dare avow, young Montanino, 
Last of his race and with his ruin'd fortune, 
Alone with that sweet sister, both so sad, 
And both so noble in their gentle mien, 
Has for my heart and fancy more attraction 
Than any of my brother's happier friends. 
I think how I should like to draw him near 
And smile away his sadness, and to make 



ACT II. SC. 1. 291 

«k 

That dear Angelica my bosom's friend. 

Domicil. Why, did I ever ! No, when I was young, 

A maiden had as soon bit off her tongue. 
As prais'd an enemy. And I suppose, 
Now that the youtla is prison'd for some crime. 
Thou 'It make a saint of him. 

Cornel. That is to see. 
Here Antonello comes. I bade him learn 
What had transpired. 

Domicil. Thou didst ? The girl is mad ! 

Why, in my day ! Ah, times indeed are chang'd ! 

I wonder how the world will get along ! 

Enter Antonello. 

Cornel. Why very much as though no Montanino 
Nor Sahmbene were in 't ! We are but bubbles 
Floating upon some portion of the flood, 
Which, whether we break at once or swim awhile, 
Eolls downward to the ocean, all the same. — 
Well, Antonello ? 

Domicil. Eeally ! I did never ! — 

Anton. {He speaks throughout^ though still quichly, yet more de- 
liberately, through respect, than when with Barbara. 
I met with Monna Gehca's'^ young maid, 
Who had told me of her rnaster's taking up, 
Madonna, as you know. 

Cornel. And what said she ? 

Anton. He has been charg'd before the Nine with practising 
With the Messeri of the Tolomei 



292 THE MONTANINI 



To bring the exil'd nobles back again. 
Domicil. Plotting with Deo of the Tolomei, 

The banish'd Guelf! ^° What say'st thou, child, to that? 
Cornel. 'T is. Aunt, a mere political offence, — 

Rebellion, — even if the charge be prov'd. 
Domicil. Don't contradict me, child : I say, 't is crime, 

Leag'd with the Tolomei to expel 

The Salimbeni ! Said I not he was 

Our house's foe I Is 't prov'd ? \to Anton. 

Anton. Madonna, yes. 
Domicil. And what his punishment ? 

Anton. Condemn'd to pay 

A thousand florins,^' or to lose his head. 
Cornel. 'T is tyranny I Ippolito so will say. 

That poor Angelica! and her brother's life ! 
Domicil. Ippolito will say no such a thing. 

And poor Angelica need not be concern'd : 

Their friends will pay the fine and save his life. — 

Plotting with Deo of the Tolomei, 

The banish'd Gruelf ! I told thee that the cinders 

Were smouldering still. But thou wouldst not believe. 

Young folk were not so headstrong in my day. 

[Exit Domicil. 
Cornel. Is Messer Carlo really condemn'd ? 
Anton. I stood before the Palace of the Signory. 

Men talk'd of nothing else. They say, he is given 

Two weeks to pay the mulct in. 

Cornel. Poor young lady I 

How did she bear it ? 



ACT II. sc. 1. 293 

Anton. As you may suppose, 

Knowing, Madonna, that her brother was 

A god in the lady's eyes. Slie swoon'd away. 

I wish my master were return'd ! 

* Cornel. For what ? 
Anton. I don't know, Monna NeUa. But you see — 

Monna Angehca is the sweetest creature ! 

My master is — I think An angel quite ! 

Cornel. Thy master ? 

Anton. Monna Glelica, I mean. 
Cornel. T think so too, good Nello. Say no more. 

Learn all thou canst. And, hark thou ! if it be 

Thou hear'st the desolate lady is in need 

Of aught that I can furnish, let me knoAV. 

I will supply it. Only, have a care 

She shall not know the true source whence it comes. 
Anton. Grod's life ! Madonna, thou 'rt an angel too ! 
Cornel. Thou knowest, Madonna Angelica and I 

Are neighbors, and good manners spread by contact. 

G-o now, hear all, and see all ; but thy mouth. 

For Salimbene's honor, keep thou close ! 

\_Exitj joyfully^ hut with marlied respect, Anton. 

I would too that Ippolito were back ! 

What will he do ? He loves that lovely lady 

Better than life. And say what will my aunt, 

He has no feeling of enmity for the brother. 

But thinks as I do of these silly feuds. 

I would I durst inform her of his love ! 

But her kind heart is so o'ergrown with weeds 



294 THE MONTANINI 



Of genealogy and family pride, 

They choke the wheat of sense and Christian grace. 

To think of fighting for a pack of hounds ! 

And a whole family spent for one boar's blood ! 

I wonder not the people ar^ sick of rank 

And shut ancestral honors from their gates. 

If Carlo Montanino sought to open them, 

His head is not so solid as it looks, 

And might, for all its use, as well be off. 

[Turns to make her Exit, in same direction as DomiciUa, 
and Scene closes. 



ACT II. SC. 2. 295 

Scene II. 
A cell in the public prison. 

Carlo, 

seated on a bench apparently of stone, and leaning 

pensively on a small table of seemingly similar material, his 

forehead on his hand. 

A noise within, as of bolts withdrawn, 

and a narroio vaulted door, at the right, opens. A Jailer 

gives admittance to Beccari, and then, at a sign 

from the latter, shuts in the two 

together. 

Becc. [after a m,om,ent — Carlo not rising. 

You sent for me, Messere. I have come. 
Carlo, dropping his hand, looks at him steadily, 
but does not rise. 
Will it please you speak? 'T is not a thing most usual 
For a high Signer of the State to wait 
On a convicted culprit. 

Carlo rises with dignity, and comes forward with 
an air of tranquil yet m,elancholy majesty, and 
speaks in a tone corresponding to his mien. 
Carlo. I am not — 
Neither culprit, nor convicted ; though condemn'd, 
I feel, most truly, and condemn'd unjustly. 
I had no thought, Messer', to wound 5'our pride. 



296 THE MONTANTNl 



Tou were not of the bench which took away 
My liberty on a perjur'd charge, sustain'd 
By no clear evidence, and against whose substance 
I was not sufFer'd even to protest. 

Becc. I was not on the bench ; but being of those 

Who judg'd and who condemn'd you, must not hear 
Their justice call'd in question. Not for me 
To sentence you unheard ; nor will you credit, 
That I, whom 't not concerns, should greatly care 
Whether you be or innocent or not. 
But all men are my brothers, and as man 
My heart can throb with sympathy for those 
Whom as a magistrate my tongue must censure. 
For this, and for your noble sister's sake 

Carlo, [quietly, yet with slight severity. 

My sister leave alone, and speak of me. 

Becc. Why hinder that an angel come between 
Our earthy natures, and make smooth a path 
That either may without her find too rough ? 

Carlo, [with increased severity, yet withotit passion,. 

Messer', Messere^ ! this is to abuse 

Our several positions. What you mean 

I know not, but between yourself and me 

Is no affair wherein my sister mingles. 

Becc. Well, Messer Carlo Montanino, well. 

I thought you had found need of me, and came 
To offer help. Why sent you for me then ? 

Carlo. Ser Gasparo Beccari, oftentimes 

You have sued to me to have my only farm 



ACT II. SC. 2. _ 297 



Down in the vale of Strov^, and late oifer'd 

Up to twelve hundred florins, which I refus'd, 

Not willing then to sell at any price. 

My need now is ascendant. Take the farm. 

Becc. No, Me^ser Montanino ; times are chang'd. 

To tempt you, I made offers far above 

The actual value. These you chose, from pride, 

Or fancy, or whatever cause you will. 

Flatly to set at nought. 'T is now my turn. 

Tou ask to sell. I will not give you now 

Twelve hundred florins. 

Carlo. I had not suppos'd 

You wish'd to chaffer. 

Becc. Then you quite forgot 

I am a merchant, as your foresires were, 

And were, 't is not yet threescore years gone by, 

The great destroyers of your lesser race. 

The wealthy Salimbeni ; wiser they, 

And better patriots, who could lend the State 

For one emergence twenty thousand florins 

Out of their private coffers. 

Carlo. But well secur'd.'^'^ 

What boots this reminiscence ? That my sires 

Were not of the dominant faction, let my need, 

And that I am now imprison' d on a charge 

Utterly false, untried, without a word 

Permitted in defence, and doom'd to lose 

My life, or pay a fine beyond my means. 

Let this attest, and plead for your forbearance ; 
13* 



298 ^ THE MONTATSriNI 



Nor seek to wouud who casts no stone at you. 
Becc. I might reply, Messere, that you have, 

Though it fell short. But let us pass that over. 
Our talk is now of money. He who bids 
For what is not on sale must offer largely. 
I did so. Who would sell where is no bid. 
Must tempt with easy prices. You do not. 
I dropp'd the magistrate at your desire ; 
I can resume it, so please you, and withdraw, {turns to go. 
Carlo. Yet stay. 
He wallcs up the stage. Beccari watches Mtu with a look of 
eooultant malignity, which he instantly suppresses, ivhen 
Carlo, returning, raises his head and resumes. 
'T is hard. But I liave no resource. 
Give me a thousand florins, and take the farm. 
Becc. 'T was my first offer, truly. But remember, 
I bade you note 't was much beyond its worth. 
'T is you that wish to sell, not I to buy. 
The case is alter'd. 

Carlo. Do I hear aright ? 
Is this your charity ? 

Becc. 'T is my common sense. 
I wonder you not see it. 

Carlo. 'T is because 
You sought to blind me with your Christian love 
And human sympathy. 

Becc. That was no blind. 
I hold all men my brothers, and I sorrow 
For you as for all others, but no more. 



ACT II. SC. 2. 299 

I do to you what you would do to me 
Under like circumstances. 

Carlo, [lofiily, and with more of passion 

than he has hitherto betrayed. 

Never ! No, 
Not were you my worst enemy. 

Becc. So you think. 
It is but your opinion. I have mine. 
I am a stranger to your class as blood, 
A man of the people : why do you appeal 
To me, when you have friend^of your own rank ? 
Tour father's blood is lessen'd to the veins 
Of only two : but yet your mother's flows 
In a fair stream. Not wholly are you spent, 
Nor quite alone. There are who boast your kin 
"Who are rich, though happily for the public peace 
And common weal they are no more of note. 
"Why in your urgence not sohcit them ? 
Carlo. You ask to mock me, knowing well ere this 

They had freed me, were 't their will. They haply dread, 
Being of a faction hated by your rule, 
To fall into suspicion, lend they aid 
To a suspected rebel. 

Becc. Lo you now ! 
Your mother's blood grows niggard, and the friends 
Of your own faction pale before the terror 
Of charg'd complicity, yet you call on me 
A Ghibeline and an alien to your' race, 
A ruler in the city which condemns you, 



300 THE MONTANINI 

To lend you aid, and venture my good name 
With my associate rulers and the people 
Whose interests by so doing I may betray ! 
Well, I will venture; I have come for that; 
And let your conscience after bid you blush, 
That j'ou have cast a slur upon ray charity 
And Christian love. Messer Carlo Montanino, 
I will take your land in Strove at its worth. 
The residue to make up your amercement 
May easily be found : so much your friends 
May lend, nor give su^icion to the State. 
Carlo. What is your offer ? 

Becc. What the farm would bring 
To-morrow were it set to public sale : 
Seven hundred florins. 

Carlo. Let our parle here cease. 
The o'erstrain'd tyranny which has sent me hither, 
An innocent man, to ruin or to death, 
Is not more odious than the skulking malice 
Which flouts my poverty and the rampant avarice 
Which drives a bargain with my mortal need, 
Usurping blasphemously the pure name 
Of Christian charity. There is the door. 

[said loftily J hut with a melancholy 
majesty that is above passion. 

While Beccari replies, the cell door is again 

thrown open, and the Jailer admits 

Angelica and Barbara. 



ACT II. SC. 2. 301 

Barbara remains in the background. Angelica toithout 

a word throws herself upon Carlo's hreastj who 

presses her there in silence until Beccari, 

whom he does notfroin this tim,e 

regard, has made his Exit. 

Becc. Since I am here invited, Messer Carlo, 

You should have left me to depart unbidden. 

Your insult on the magistral authority 

I shall not to your detriment report. 

Your obloquy of me, and most ungrateful 

Perversion of my meaning, I shall strive, 

More for that noble lady's sake than yours, 

To not remember, and for her sweet sake 

Will do you service yet despite yourself 

Meanwhile, peace with you! — Jailer, let me forth. 

[knocks at the door, tvhich is opead. 
Exit Beccari. 
Angel. Oh Carlo ! is all hopeless ? Oh my brother I 
Carlo, [raising her from his breast 

and kissing her on the forehead. 

Why ask, Angelica ? Was thy quest in vain ? 

Bertuccio Arrigucci will not aid me ? 
Angel. Alas ! he listen'd kindly, seem'd surpris'd 

To hear of thy embarrassment, and distress'd 

To think he must refuse ; because, he said. 

His known attachment to the banish'd side, 

And his affinity, through his son Rugiero, 

With Messer Sozzo Dei, made it for him 



302 THE MONTANINI 



More dangerous than for others to lend thee aid. 

He wonder'd that you did not sell your farm, 

Which must he thought bring full a thousand florins. 
Carlo. Thus all of them prepare to see me die ! 

I was unjust to accuse this butbher's son, 

The associate of a tyrannous popular rule. 

Of want of charity and malicious will, 

When my owa kindred and best-trusted friends, 

To escape suspicion and a possible fine, 

Selfishly give me over to the axe. 

What though they should affront even risk of exile. 

Or sequestration of all worldly goods, 

Is not my blood in the scale ? And were theirs balanc'd. 

Would not I venture more ? even life as well ? 

But no ! that is for me to exact too much. 

Nor do I do it, Angehca. Yet — and yet — 

Why did not my rich cousin advance the means 

To others less obnoxious, and through tlienrn 

Have got me clear ? 

Angel. 'T is like he did not think it. 

I will to him instantly and urge the plan. 
Carlo. No ; he will tell thee that the State would trace 

The ransom to its source and make him answer. 

Thou shalt not blush, nor for thyself nor me, 

At his renew'd refusal. 

Angel. In such a case 

There can be nought to blush for. Rather shame 

Is his who, in an hour of mortal need, 

Denies a kinsman aid, than his who asks it. 



ACT II. SC. 2. 303 

Oh let me back, my brother ! if not to him, 
Yet to some other. Do not shales thy head ! 
Where life is hope is, and it cannot be 
All .will repel us. 

Carlo. I do fear it will. 
There is none to us allied, remote or near. 
That is not fallen into some suspect 
With the malignant Nine, or will not plead 
Their jealous fears, to avoid the doing of what 
Might haply move suspicion. No, beli^eve me. 
He who would aid me will not need be ask'd. 

Angel. Then must we sell our pretty place in Strove, 
Do it, dear Carlo, and quit this fearful den. 

Carlo. Poor child ! . And wilt thou tell me how to sell ? 
Didst thou not mark Beccari's mood in parting ? 

Angel. Sometliing I noted in his tone : not much. 

He seem'd to have been repuls'd. He came to buy ? 

Carlo. Doubtful, since others fail'd me, that Bertuccio 
Would listen even to thee, I sent to speak 
With Ser Beccari, and had from him a lesson 
Was hardly needed. 

Angel. What was that, my brother ? 

Carlo. Thou hast mark'd, among the gentlest even of birds, 
How when one sickens, or is broken-wing'd, 
The rest will peck at him, nay oftentimes 
The male at the wounded female. So with men. 
The strong, who need no help, have help in plenty. 
'T is press'd upon them even against their will. 
The feeble cry in vain ; their happier brothers 



304 THE MONTANINI 



Pluck at their feathers and worry them to death. 

Angel. No, Carlo, not with all. [embracing him. 

Carlo. No, Earth were Hell, 
Were there no angels in it. But thou, my cherub, 
Thy wing is broken too. 

Angel. Thou dost not mean. 
We cling together only that we both 
Are poor and helpless ? 

Carlo. No ; thought I that. 
The headsman's axe were welcome. Said I not. 
Thou art an angel ? While thou tread'st its walks 
Earth still has Paradise, and therefore only. 
For thy sweet sake, I struggle yet to live. — '■ 
But to the means of life — which yet J see not. 
Beccari offer'd for the farm, thou knowest, 
Twelve hundred florins. Then, I could refuse. 
Now I must offer, he will not give me more 
Than seven hundred. 'T is the law of trade. 
So he would teach me. But I rather think it 
The law of common nature. I am down : 
Why lift me up ? My body stops the way. 
Let the proud trample on it, or step over, 
Nor stop to ask if yet its heart beats warm. 

Angel. do not talk so desperately, dear brother ! 
See ! through thy prison-bars the setting sun 
Darts even now a line of level gold. 
It has been hidden all the livelong day. 
Accept flhe omen, Carlo : trust in G-od, 
Who will not leave thy virtue unrepaid. 



ACT II. SC. 2. 305 



Carlo. ITo, thine, sweet saint : mine has no note in Heaven : 
This ray of sunset fortune shines for thee. 
Be it ! I shall die happy. 

Angel. Carlo! Carlo! 
This doubt tempts Providence : and this despair, 
Is it for me to listen ? 

Carlo. No, forgive me. 
I will for thy sake think what may be done. 
Angel. Think not, but act ! Command the farm be sold ! 

Bertuccio valued it a thousand florins. 
Carlo. Well, I will ponder. Sleep<-thou undisturb'd. 

[stooping to Mss her. 
Angel, [throwing herself on Ms neck. 

Sleep undisturb'd! while thou art pillow'd here ? 
Carlo. Fi, fi ! is this thy trust in Heaven ? See now ! 
Thou art making good Barbara herself to cry ! 
Cheer up, my sister ! — So ! — Knock, Barba, now. 

[Barh. knocks on the portal, ivMch is 
opened hy the Jailer. 
Good even, Angelica, [embracing her. 

Angel. Do sell the farm ! 
Do, do, my brother I [kisses him fondly and repeatedly, 
then, going out, suddenly comes hack, and 
embraces him silently, and Exit, 
followed hy Barbara. 
The door is closed, and the 
holts are heard tvithin. 
Carlo. And what wouldst thou then do ? 
Must I give thee to beggary ? thee ? I will 



306 THE MONTANINI 



Indeed well ponder it. — The ray is fled. 

[looking off the. scene. 
It came with thee, and would not stay, thou gone. 
And now, without that double light, these walls 
Are blacker than before. — guard her, Heaven I 
With me do even as befits Thy "Will, 
But have, I pray, have mercy upon her ! 

He walks up the stage, and Scene closes. 



Scene III. 



The Entrance of the Palazzo Montanini within. 
The Background presents the Great Gate 
closed. On the Right, the lower 
steps of a vtinding staircase. 
On the Left, the Por- 
ter's Lodge. 
Knocking without. 

Enter GtIanni /rom the Lodge. 

Gianni. Now, who can that be, knocking at the gate ? 
You '11 not get in, I 'm thinking I now I — St. John I 



ACT II. SC. 3. 307 

You 're in a hurry ! 
Moving slowly to the gate.] But there takes one more 
To give you speed ; and that 's not I. I '11 see, 
However, vrho you be : it is n't safe, 

Now everybody 's out Ay, ay, I hear ! 

[draws a slide covering a latticed loophole and looJcs out. 
Hum ! Ser Beccari ! What wants he, I wonder. 
[ Opens partially a postern in the great door and, 
looking out, 
The mistress 's out ; and Barbara is out ; 
The master 's where nobody better knows 
Than you, I 'm thinking. So you can't come in, 
Messer Beccari. [offering to shut the postern. 

It is pushed hack, and, brushing hy him, 

Enter Beccari. • 

Becc. Never mind, my friend, 
I '11 wait thy mistress. 

Gian. Mistress is n't us'd 
To be awaited. She is where she ought, 
Consoling my poor master, Messer Carlo, 
Who 's where he ought not ; greater shame to those 
Who put him there ! and won't be home till dark. 
Becc. That won't be long ; the sun is setting now. 

Come, my good G-ianni ; thou 'rt a brave old fellow, 
Plain, downright, honest stuff, such as I like ; 

And 

Gian. No, I a'n't ; nor plain, nor honest more 



308 THE MONTANINI 



Than other folk, I 'm thinking ; but I know 
Just what I hke and what I don't hke, and 
I show it. 

Becc. And that 's downright. 

Oian. No, it is n't ; 
It 's natural : that 's my idea. 

Becc. Well, be it. 
It is thy nature, G-ianni, and 't is mine, 
To show our likings. And I do so now. 
Come, there is money. [Gianni looks at it ivistfully, hut 

turns aivay. 
Nay, my frank old man ; 
'T is frankly ofFer'd ; and I know thou need'st it; 
Ye are not over well provided here. 
Gian. I say we are : who told you we were not ? 
, And I can take no pay but from the master. 
Put up your money : you are tempting me 
To nothing good, I 'm thinking; but you won't 
Succeed : that 's my idea. 

Becc. If I had thought to, 
I had not try'd to tempt thee, as thou call'st it. 
No, good old man, I am thy master's friend, 
Although he does not know it ; would gladly aid him, 
As I would all the unhappy of mankind. 
Gian, \iuho has shook his head distrustfully while 
Becc. spoke. 
But I am not unhappy. 

Becc. Peace I — It is 
Because I know thee loyal to thy lord 



ACT II. SO. 3. 309 

I seek to do thee kindness. Take it ! [offering again the 
money. Gianni looks luistfully and sidelong at it, as be- 
fore, but struggles with his desire, and shakes his head. 

No? 
Well then, some other time. And 't is for this, 
My wish to serve thy master spite himself, 
I 'd speak with thy young mistress. Tell me now — 
Thou knowest, good Gianni — of what mood is she ? 
Gian. Eh? ■ 

Becc. Of what temper, disposition ? 

Gian. Oh ! 
The same as Master's. 

Becc. So ? I should have thought 
They hardly were alike. And what is his ? 
Gian. The same as mine : he don't like strangers. So, 
Please to go out, Messer Beccari. 

Becc. Come ! 
Please to remember what I am. 

Gian. L do. 
You are one of our rulers, the more shame for you. 
The people do not like you any more 
Than do the nobles ; only, these dare not 
. Speak out their minds, as dare the people, and I, 
Because you cannot hurt me, since I am 
Not worth the hurting. But you are a set 
Of shabby tyrants, and you know it ; and 
The sooner we are rid of you, the better.'^' 
That 's my idea. 

Becc. Plain, downright, honest Gianni ! 



3]0 THE MONTAlSriNI 



Dost recollect, though I may not hurt thee^ 
These sentiments, reported as thy master's, 
May hurt him ? 

Oian. Well; he is in prison, is n't he? 
And I don't know but that you put him there. 

Becc. I ? No ! I should be glad to get him out. 

Gian. Well, do it then: that 's better than to say it: 
And I shall think the better of you. But 
You cannot do it here : and, as Madonna 
Is not at home, I wish you would go out. 
That 's my idea. 

Becc. [turning to go. 

It 's my idea, my friend. 
Thou dost not know thy right foot from thy left. 
But I shall come to-morrow ; and thou 'It see 
I am thy lady's right hand in this strait. 
Commend me to her, and tell her I so said. 

Grian. {opening the postern. 

I '11 tell her that a magistrate was here. 
And recommend her not to have to do 
With any of that sort. That 's my idea. 

[Exit Beccari. 
Good even, Ser Beccari. — 

Shutting the door.'] And the Devil 
Go with you, and the like of you ! — I 'm glad 
He 's gone. Madonna will come home 
Quite sad enough from poor dear Master's prison. 
Without this beast to make her cry, I 'm thinking. 
He 's got long claws, I '11 warrant, though he purs. 



ACT II. SC. 3. 311 

I 've seen the kind before ; you rub the fur 
A little rough, and out the nails, come sharp. — 
'T is time she was a-coming. I '11 look out. 

[opening again the postern. 
Messer Carlo, it will break her heart 
It they should kill you ! and I think 't will mine. 
He puts his head out at the opening , and 

Scene doses. 



312 THE MONTANINI 



Ac T THE Third 

Scene I. As in Act I. Scene I. 

Angelica 
coming slowly forivard to Beccari, toho^ hawing profoundly^ 
appears to have just entered ; Barbara also ad- 
vancing^ hut keeping hehind her mistress, 
a little in the hackground. 

Becc. Madonna, does this moment find you free ? 
Angel. As free as at a time of such distress 

I can be. What is Ser Beccari's pleasure ? 
Becc. To do awaj^, Madonna, that distress, 

If so it please you. In your own hand lies 

Your brother's destiny. 

Angel. In mine? In mine? 

And I not know it ? But you are of the Nine. 

Speak, speak, Messer' I Why has he languish'd then « 

Ten days in prison ? I do not understand you. 

In my hand? Speak! 

Becc. In thine, most truly, lady. 

Had I obey'd my feelings, I had come 

Five days ago to see you, as I promis'd 

That evening when you loiter'd at the prison 

And your rude porter would not let me wait. 



ACT III. SC. 1. 313 

Angel do not call him rude, that good old man ! 

He is but loyal ; 't is our house's sorrow 

Has fill'd him with distrust. 

Becc. I do not blame him ; 

He follows but the master's gloomy lead. 

And 't is for this alone his captious humor 

Deserves my mention. Pride and cold disdain 

. Meet, on your brother's part, my Christian offers, 

And my best efforts are thwarted by distrust. 

Angel, [losing her animation, and resuming the air of dignity and 

reserve with which she had met Beccari. 

You do remind me. 'T is that you yourself 

Have given him cause to judge you harshly. 

Becc. How? 

I came to him to offer for his farm ; 

And did so largely. He refus'd, and haughtily. 

Angel. I think not : haughtiness is not his vice. 

Becc. No, 't is his weakness. 

[Angel, evinces pain and displeasure. 

Pardon ! I meant not 

To ruffle feelings which I most revere. 

He did refuse : Madonna, you were by. 

Angel. He wish'd not then to sell. But, chang'd the case, 

He sent for you ; and then you did reject 

The terms you had offer' d. 

Becc. 'T was, the case was chang'd. 

Angel. What ! do you drive a traffic with distress, 

And in the emergence of a mortal need 

Find pretext to enhance the means of aid ? 
Vol. IV.— 14 



314 THE MONTANINI 



Becc. Why not, young lady ? Do not all men so ? 
I ask'd your brother, and I ask you now, 
Why do not his own friends, your mother's kin, 
Assist him ? 

Angel. Wo is us! they dare not do it. 
But you, Messere, dare. 

Becc. No more than they. 
Might I not be suspected too ? *No, lady, 
Your brother, Messer Carlo, has not had 
That deference for me he should have had. 
I would befriend him. Will you let me so ? 
Look at the Salimbeni, his destroyers 

Angel. Wrong not the innocent ! 

Becc. Pardon ! I should say, 
Destroyers of his race. What gave them power ? 
They owe it not to their enormous wealth,'" 
But to their influence with the popular party, 
Their union with the dominant cause, through which 
They drove their sole great rivals from the State. 

Angel. To what tends this ? I own, Messer Beccari, 

You are of the Nine ; and therefore more I wonder. 
That having the power, and the will professing, 
To aid my hapless brother in this strait. 
You but parade it, and not use it. 

Becc. Lady, 
I only bid you mark it, in the hope 
You now will bid me use it ; for on you, 
And you alone, depends it that I do. 

Angel. What mean you ? 



ACT III. SC. 1. 315 

Becc. Said I not, that in your hands 
Lies your lov'd brother's destiny ? 

Angel. Explain. 
Keep me not anxious ! 

Becc. Bid your servant then, 
I pray you of your courtesy, for my sake, 
Withdraw a brief while. 

Angel. Backward a few steps. 
Out of all hearing, if that will suffice. 
Becc. If so it must be. 

Angel. Barbara, retire ; 
But keep in sight. 

Barbara goes wp the stage, hut very soon, when 

Beccari has ceased to observe her, moves 

nearer hy degrees, and listens. 

Now briefly. 

Becc. [looking back, then in a 
lower tone. 
Were, Madonna, 
Your brother my ally ; in other words. 

Our interests made one 

Angel. That cannot be. 
Not for his life would Carlo change his faction, 
Were not his sentiments first chang'd. 

Becc. Dear lady, 
You do misapprehend me. jSTot through him 
The alliance I propose, but ^— dare I say 't ? 



316 THE MO>"TANINI 



Through you. 

Angel. Speak more conceivably, Messere. 
Becc. I see around in these disfurnish'd rooms 
No mirror hung, or I would bid you look. 
And there receive my ansvs^er. 

Angel. Barbara ! 

Becc. Nay, 
Call her not to you. Think ! in five days more, 
Tour brother's life is forfeit. Will you not 
Reach out a hand to save him ? 

Angel. By what means? 
Becc. By lifting up the fortune I would lay 

At your fair feet, and with it lifting me. 
Angel. Never ! I trust in Heaven ; nor will I stoop 
To even listen to what is shame from one 
Who builds his hopes of winning me — since so 
I needs must understand you — on the ruin 
Of my own brother. Come, Barbara. 

Becc. Lady, no! 
By your own gentle self, I pray ! one word ! 
Think not so meanly of me, deem me not 
So senseless-daring, had I even the heart, 
To offer in exchange your brother's life 
For the high honor of your hand. Believing 
I am too humble, having in myself 

No claim to do you homage 

Angel. Cease, Messere. 
In any way I would not listen ; but this 
I may advise : — to win the right to plead, 



ACT III. SC. 1. / 317 



You should have set my innocent brother free, 
Then come to me. 

Becc. And would you then have listen'd ? 
May I then hope, dear lady, if I give 

Your brother to your arms again ? 

Angel. Hope nothing, 
Messer Beccari, that is not in truth 
And reason. If indeed you use the power 
You seem now to avow, nay, if you keep 
Simply your profFer'd terms, and for the farm 
Pay down my brother's ransom, then, sir, then, 
Come to his sister, and you shall receive 
All that a truly grateful heart can pay, 
My first of benefactors and my friend. 
Becc. And nothing more but this ? 

Angel. And nothing more : 
Since nothing more can be. What Avould you more? 

Ser Beccari ! give again to life 

My father's son, and thou shalt be to me 
A second father ! 

Becc. You mistake, Madonna; 

1 am but one of Nine, and have no power 

To free your brother, though Heaven knows my wish 
Leans heartily that way. To purge him clear 
Of the strong charge of treason to the State, 
Nay more, to give him influence in the State, 
BuUd up his ruin'd fortunes, and his head. 
Which the axe threatens, lift as high as the best 
Of the Salimbeni, this was in my will. 



318 THE MONTANINI 



But the sole means to compass it you would not, 
Scorning my honest love. — 

Angel. I have said, Messere I 
In any way I will not listen that. 
Cease then to urge it. Not to build his fortune 
Thought I to accept your proffer'd aid, for that 
My brother would disdain from any man. 
He has ofFer'd you, upon your own urg'd terms, 
The estate in Strove. Was it ten days since 
A thousand florins worth, 't is not less now. 
Bertuccio Arragucci counts it that. 
Take it, and for the urgence of our need 
Become our benefactor. Said I more ? 
Thou shalt be, truly shalt thou be, my friend, 
My second father. 

Becc. If the Ser Bertuccio, 
Your mother's cousin, lends not, why should I, 
My risk is greater, brave the State's suspect ? 
Lady, I am a merchant ; I can give 
Nothing for nothing ; and my profits vary 
According to the need which makes my ware 
Rise in the mart or fall. I would not be 
Your second father ; I would rather be, 
That which your beauty and excelling virtue 
Make foremost of my wishes, your first spouse. 
Hear me then. — 

Angel. Barbara, come. The Ser Beccari 
Can as before alone find out his way. 

[Exeunt Angel, and Barb. 



ACT in. sc. 1. 319 



Becc. Distraction ! 'T is the same accursed pride 

Deep-set in both, though putting forth diversely, 

According to the soil wherein 't is grown. 

I '11 pluck it up by the roots, or I will die for 't ! 

[turning to go. 

Enter G-ianni. 

Oian. Well, you have seen at last Madonna G-elica. 
I hope you are satisfied, Messer' Beccari ? 
You 've found she don't like magistrates, I 'm thinking. 
You 'd best not come again, that 's my idea. 
And so, I '11 show you out, if so you 're done. 
Becc. Silence, old fool ! And lead the way. I am done 
For the present — here. 

Gian. Come, {leading off.'] BetteK an old fool, 
Than be a sinner at any age, I 'm thinking. 

\_Stops at the Exit^ to give the advance to Becc. 

Exit Becc. 
And so you '11 find one day — that 's my idea. 

[Exit Gianni. 



320 THE MONTANINI 



Scene II. 

As in Act II. Scene I. 

Ippoltto. Cornelia. Domicilla. 

IppoT. Now, Aunt Docilla, now, Cornelia dear. 

Ippolito has told you all his fortunes 

By stream and horsepath, forest, dell, and hill, 

Since his prodigious absence of ten days, — 

And, 'sooth, it has seem'd wondrous long indeed, 

Parted from your dear loves ! — 

Cornel. O fi, Ippol'to I 

Parted from our dear loves ? And is that all 

[looking at him archly^ 

That weigh'd upon the sluggish wing of Time ? 
Domicil. And what beside should load the hours for him ? 

Thou dost injustice to thy brother's love. 
Cornel. No, I do perfect justice to his love. 

Don't I, Ippolito ? [same manner. 

Domicil. Child, don't contradict. 

Thou interrupt'st him. Do as thou seest me. 

When I was young, a damsel would have blush'd 

To cut the tliread short of her brother's tale. 

But times are chang'd. 

Cornel. 'T is well they are, dear Aunt, 



ACT III. SC. 2. 321 



Since it may do a pleasure to one's brother 
To cut liis thread off or make short his tale. 
I am sure I have done so now. 

Domicil. Go on, my son. 
Don't mind her: in her joy to have thee back, 
She talks a deal of nonsense. 

Ijypol. Let her, Aunt ! 
1 like it well : it helps digestion. Then, 
My thread was well nigh spent. I meant to say, 
Now I have made you merry with my journey 
And scenes abroad, lift you the curtain here, 
And show what 's i>ew since I left Vito's gate. " 
Say thou, Cornelia. 

Cornel. Hast thou not then heard ? 

Ippol. Nothing that 's strange. Siena is, I take it, 
Not any sager being ten days older. 
But the same seething pot of faction still. 
The Devil can find none hotter, save what boils 
On our near neighbors' fires ; Arezzo, Pisa, 
Florence, all help to keep each other little ; 
And so Italia's states will do, I suppose. 
To the end of time, with foreign greater powers 
To egg them on, who find in their dissensions 
The means to keep them separate and thus weak. 
But Aunt, I see, don't think me ten days wiser. 
Who 've come back harping on the same old string. 
Come, what 's to tell, Cornelia ? Is it jocund ? 

Cornel. So Aunt thinks : but I say, 't will make thee sad. 

Domicil. I say, 't will not. Though, times are greatly chang'd 
14* 



322 THE MONTANINI 

Since I was young. 

Ippol. Not quite : tastes dififer still. 
But let us hear. 

Cornel. Poor Carlo Montanino 

Ifpol. Not dead ? 

Cornel. No, but condemn'd to die, within 

Five days, unless 

Ippol. Grood Heaven I what has he done ? 
Domicil. "What might be thought of him : conspir'd, my child, 
Against the State. 

Ippol. Conspir'd against the State ? 
What might be thought of him ? . Why, Aunt Docilla, 
Almost as soon I had thought it of myself! 
Cornel. There, Aunt! 

Ippol. Why surely, you would not rejoice 
To have him dead ? 

Domicil. Griesu forbid ! But dead 
He is not like to be : a thousand florins, 
Cost what they will, may sometime be replac'd ; 
Never a head. 

Ippol. A thousand florins ? [in perplexity. 
Cornel. Aunt 
Is not quite right. The poor young man stands charg'd 
With leaguing to bring back the banish'd nobles. 
Domicil. And is n't that the same ? Child, thou art rude ! 
Ippol. Not quite the same. I could not think him guilty 
Of plotting against his country ; but conspiring 
To unseat the powers that be is lighter guilt, 
And not unhkelv. 



ACT III. sc. 2. 323 



Domicil. How thou talk'st, Ippol'to ! 

Why, it is Carlo Montanino plotting 

The restoration of our deadliest foe, 

The puissant Tolomei ! Hear'st thou that ? 
Ippol. Puissant enough : but he is weak, and humbled, 

Forget it not ! through us. A thousand florins 

Will ruin him. 

Domicil. Is 't my brother's son that speaks ? 

The blood of Massimino Salimbene 

Ipjpol. Shed now two hundred years is all too dry 

To fructify mischief, if there lie one seed 

Of such in my breast for Carlo Montanino. 
Domicil. And thou canst pity him ! Times indeed are chang'd ! 
Ippol. The last male scion of an ancient house 

Reduc'd to poverty by his foresire's fault! 

I would my foresires had no hand in it ! 

He is a fine young fellow : I wish him well. 

Domicil. Thy father had not thought this. In my day 

Tppol. In thy day,- Aunt, my father's self had shudder'd 

To tread upon a corpse. Was 't not an ass 

That kick'd at the dead lion ? Wouldst thou have me 

Even such a brute ? thy pet Ippolito 

Whom thy dear lips have flatter'd into pride ? 

DoTnicil. No, no, my child ! my boy ! But yet 

Ippol. But yet, 

Even if this be prov'd 

Cornel. It is not prov'd ! 

They would not let him answer in defence ! 

They hurried him to prison on the instant, 



324 THE MONTANINI 



Doom'd to pay down the fine, or lose his head. 

Ippol. The devil ! Why this is tyranny unmask'd ! 
Be this the way the Nine abuse the laws, 
I '11 join, myself, to drive the monsters out. 

Domicil. Hush, hush ! don't say it! thou 'rt mad ! 

Ippol. By Heaven, Aunt, 
I believe we all in Italy are mad ! 
People against nobles, nobles 'gainst the people, 
Cities all striving to out each other's throat. 
That foreign realms may rule us : all stark mad ! 
And have been ever since the Roman fall. 
Is it so long since Dante Alighieri, 
A man, beyond all computation, worth 
Ten thousand Bondelmonti and Uberti, 
And whose great voice shall thunder through all time, 
Stirring the pulse of millions yet to be, 
In climes where 'not a syllable shall sound 
Of Salimbene's name, dead on the page 
Of histories scarcely read, — unless some bard 
Should rake our ashes for a playhouse-theme 
And make them live an hour, — is 't many weeks 
Since Dante, by a faction driven abroad. 
Died mournfully in exile ? Whei'e 's to end 
This tyranny of party ? this upstirring 
Of blood by brother's blood ? I 'm sick of it all. 
Thou look'st astonish'd. Aunt ; but in thy ear 
I only tell thee what is hourly thought 
By some of our best men, and when the Nine 
Begin to totter, as thej' must ere long. 



ACT III. SC. 2. 325 



Some ev'n of our own name will join the hunt, 

Not Piccolomini and Malavolti only, 

And, with the Tolomei, chase these wolves 

Out of Si^a.^^ 

Doviicil. A-nd with the Tolomei ? 

I never thought to see this day ! 

Ippol. Why not ? 

Interest makes stranger matches ; and we have seen 

The White and Black change colors in Firenze. 

This tyrant body, detested by the people 

Whose guardians they profess to be, shall they 

Be lov'd by us of the better class, whose rights 

They have dash'd to shivers ? What they now have done 

To Carlo Montanino they might do 

To me some day, were I as poor as he. 

Fancy me, Aunt, as desolate as he, 

Then wrong'd as he. Thou wouldst not praise the act ? 
Domicil. no, it was base ! I do not love the Nine : 

They were not made in my day. But, my boy, 

Speak not so boldly ! These vile, upstart men. 

Have now the power. For my sake 

Ippol. Well, I won't. 

But do have charity for poor Montanino ! 

And his sweet sister [checks himself, while Cornelia, 

stepping behind her aunt, makes 
him a sig^ial of caution. 
Domicil. Well, my love, I see, 

Thou and Cornelia still will contradict me , 

And so I '11 leave you for some dumb affairs 



326 THE MONTANINI 



That claim my overlooking, [looking off the scene. 

Coming, Lisa. — 
I '11 give thee such a meal ! [going. 

Ippol. [detaining her. , 
But season it, do, 
With charity for Carlo, and Angel' — [checking himself. 
And his young sister ! 

Domicil. Ah ! in my young day 

Ippol. In thy young day, young fellows lov'd their aunts 
As well as they do now. At least, I 'm sure. 
If they were such as thou art, Aunt Docilla, 
They must have lov'd them spite of all their whims 
Of olden days, [hugging her. 

Domicil. Ippol'to ! Ippoltino ! 

[patting him on the cheek. 
Thou mak'st a fool of me. But in my day. 
When I was young, why surely then the times 
Were not the olden days. Well, well, I hope, 
The Montanino will deserve thy pity. 
I 'm sure I wish the young man no great harm. 

[Exit. 
Cornel. Thou hast mollified her hugely, artful brother ! 

But had she got an inkling of thy love! 
Ippol. I had not car'd. She must ere long. 

Cornel. Have patience. 
Ippol. Now tell me of Angelica. How is she ? 

What does, where is, how looks she ? Speak, Cornelia ! 
Cornel. Were it a time to trifle, I would tease thee 
By the hour on those questions : that I would I 



ACT III. SC. 2. 327 



I have seen her only twice. 'T was at the Duomo, 
At mass. Angelica look'd anxious, pale, < 

But beautiful as usual, quite an angel, 
As thou and some more fools pretend to think her 
Only because her name imports as much. 
Ippol. Oh yes ! But thou 'rt an angel too, Cornelia, 
Without the name, [embracing her. 

Cornel. ISTo, I 'm the Roman matron : 
My jewel is my brother. Keep away ! 

[as he again hugs her. 
Ippol. Well said. One day the gem shall be reset. 
Cornel. Methought she look'd more lovely for her sorrow ; 

So touching-sad, it almost made me weep. 
Ippol. Thou darling girl ! [emhracing and hissing her repeatedly. 
Cornel. Nay, art thou getting mad ? 
Was Aunt then right, and wilt thou make thee gay 
Over thy enemy's ruin ? So, one's misfortune 
Makes others' happiness. 

Ippol. No, rather, sister, 
'T is sunshine looking brighter for the clouds. 
Cornel. She goes to the prison daily, sometimes twice : 
The Signory puts no restraint on that. 
Now thou must know our Nello has a fancy 
For Monna Angela's maid. — 

Ippol. Aha, my general ! 

And so 

Cornel. I learn what happens in poor Carlo's cell. 
Ippol. Is it for Carlo's sake ? Don't blush, Cornelia ! 
Cornel. I have no cause. It is for thine, believe me, 



328 THE MONTANINI 



And pity only. 
« Ippol. Yes, I do believe thee. 

But pity is a dangerous feeling too 

For a fine fellow in a woman's heart, 

A heart at least like thine ; and oft we end 

By loving what has cost us pains to cherish. 

Take care ! 

Cornel. Nay, never fear : I will not throw 

My heart away, believe, without knowing where : 

One mad one in the family 's quite enough. 

Now Barbara and Nello do much better : 

They talk together, and quarrel I suppose. 
Ippol. Ay ! 't is well turn'd : but have a care, for all : 

When least we think to slip, then most we fall. 
Cornel. 'T is a fair rhyme. Thou hast had experience too. 
Ippol. 'T is rhyme with reason then ; and that will do. 

But oh, my hght heart ! jesting at this time ! 

What of the prison ? What keeps Carlo there ? 
Cornel. His friends refuse to aid him, in the dread 

Of being implicated. 

Ippol. Coward souls! 

How bitter-sharp the pang of such a wound! 
Cornel. One of our precious Signors, Ser Beccari. 

Had oflfer'd for his pretty farm in Strove 

A thousand florins. Now he will not give 

But seven hundied. 

Ippol. O^^the base-born cur ! 

One of his father's dogs had had more heart ! 

What will the doom'd man do ? 



ACT III. SC. 2. 329 

Cornel. He still defers, 
Though daily by his sister urg'd to sell. 
Ippol. And, so deferring, must embrace at last 
That hound Beccari's insolent offer, and beg 
A loan of the rest, perhaps too late ! 

Cornel. My brother, 
I hope I have not done wrong. Through Antonello, 
I caus'd her maid to lay upon her table 
A hundred florins. — 

Ippol. Ah 1 {taking her hand. 

And she received them, 
Knowing from whom ? 

Cornel. No, Barbara was true, 
I know from the result. Her lady thinks 
Bertuccio Arrigucci sent the gold. 
Ippol. Bertuccio Arrigucci would not give 
A single florin to save a score of lives I 
And never gave in the dark. — Go on. 

Cornel. I had 
Two hundred left of my allowance, and thinking 
I but forestall'd thy wishes, yester eve. 
Ere the poor lady with her lonely maid 
Was come from their sad visit, closely veil'd 
I sought old Gianni, Montanino's porter. — 
[ppol. Darling ! {^pressing the hand he still holds. 
But why thyself? 

Cornel. I could not trust 
Any but Nello ; and he had been known. 
Angelica had forbidden, under pain 



330 THE MONTANINI 



Of sure dismissal, her woman to receive 
Anything further from an unknown source. • 

Ippol. Right ! And old Gianni ? 

Cornel. Hardly was persuaded, 
And put queer questions, scanning me all over 
As if he would remember me, and wanted 
To set his cross to some receipt. But finally 
His love for the house prevail' d, and shaking long 
His stubborn head, he took the " partial aid 
From unknown friends." Now brother. Carlo having 
Beccari's offer, his ransom is complete. 

Ippol. [embracing tenderly his sister. 
How I do love thee ! 

Cornel. Is 't but now found out? 
Love me, Ippol' to, only half so well 
As Carlo is said to love his beauteous sister, 
I am the first of women. 

Ippol. I can but half, 
For half of my love already is that sister's. 

Cornel. But half? That 's much for a lover ! — Come away : 
Aunt looks for us. 

Ippol. And time it is, I was rid 
Of all this dust. — I am happy and sad at once. 
My poor Angehca ! But, ah dear Cornelia ! 

His arm about her tenderly, they go up the stage, 

and Scene closes. 



ACT III. SC. 3. 331 



Scene III. 

The Place of the Fountain, as in Act I. Sc. III. 

Beccari and G-iacomo. 

Criac. Ay, but I say thou hast ! cajol'd me vilely. 
I am no butcher : [Beccari scowls at him. 
for a thousand florins 
I had not perill'd young Montanino's life. 
Thou mad'st me think it was to get the farm. 
Becc. And so it was. Why don't he sell it then ? 
I bid him fairly. 

Oiac. Seven hundred florins ! . 
It is to ruin him. 

Becc. {coldly.} That is not my fault. 
Giac. Hast thou no bowels ? 

Becc. I have had for thee. 
Oiac. No, by St. John ! but for thy niggard self 
Thou shalt not let the Montanino die. 
I will report thee. 

5ecc. Wilt thou? And thyself ? 
Come, come, be less a fool. If for Camilla 
Thou hast no care, have some for thy own sake. 
Report me I me ! And if thy likely tale 



332 THB MONTANINI 



Be credited, where wilt thou be ? Besides, 
I call upon thee then for reimbursement. 
Five hundred golden florins : mark thou that I 
And on the nail! five hundred golden Johns ! '" 
Now go, report me. [Mcit 

Giac. Cursed, cursed vice ! 
To make me thus a villain's senseless tool ! 
Me, gentle born, an unresisting slave ! 
The blood of innocence is on my soul ; 
And yet I dare not wipe it off. Dare not ? 
Let me but see. [pondemig. 

Some other means devil I 

Devil of gaming. From the hell whereto 
Thou hast brought me, let me once but struggle out. 
Once breathe again the fresher wholesome air 
Of really human life ! 

He has taken his hat off, in the heat and agitation of 

the moment, to loipe his brow, — at the words, " Deuil of 

gaming," striking passionately his forehead with his clenched 

fist, — and noiu thrusts out his arm at its full 

length, the fist still folded, while 

he walks rapidly to the 

right, when 

Enter from the right, luith her pitcher, 

Barbara. 

She sees the moveinent. 

Barh. Lord ! what 's the matter ? 
Why, Messer G-iacomo, thou 'rt rather worse 



ACT III. SC. 3. 333 



Than Messer G-asparo was, an hour ago, 
Before ray lady. 

Giac. [starting. 

Hah ! What 's that of G-asparo ? 
Speak'st thou of Gasparo Beccari, dear ? 

[chucking her U7ider the chin. 
Barb. Come, you are all alike, you naughty men ! 

That 's Messer Gasparo's way : he 's making love 
To everybody too, to me at once 
And to my lady ! 

Giac. And to thy lady too ? 
But that's no wonder. Since he has a taste 
For such a tempting bit of flesh as thou, — 
And, 'faith, thou 'rt devilish pretty — [kissing her. 

Barh. Go away ! 
Giac. And plump as a quail — [hugging her. She affects to he 
angry, and heats him off. 

I say, I do not wonder ' 
He has an eye for thy mistress ; ye are two 
Such buds of beauty, [again kissing her. 

Barh. [coquetting, to conceal her satisfaction 
Come now, that 's too good ! 
Me and my mistress ! Why we 're no more like 
Than pinks and sunflowers ! 

Giac. Did I say, alike ? 
Now that 's the very thing ; since, devil take me, 
I 'd rather smell to a dainty pink like thee, [attempting to 
kiss her again. She coyly repels him. 
Than gaze at any sunflower like thy lady. 



334 THE M0NTANI2!n 



Though, tastes will differ ! Yet, I can't believe 

Beccari ever did ; thou 'rt such a puss ! 
Barh. Am I indeed ! And don't you then believe ! 

Well, I can tell you, he offer'd her his fortune, 

And talk'd of passion like any other man. 

What though he 's of the Signory, is he not 

A man of bones and blood ? He try'd it hard. 

And offer'd to redeem my master's life — — — 
Giac. Why dost thou stop ? 

Barb. Because I talk too fast. 

I had no right to tell you this. 

Giac. No right ? 

A pretty girl like thee may tell a lover 

Just what she likes : it 's all between the two. 
Barb. Yes, but you 're not my lover, Messer Giac'mo. 
Giac. A'n't I ! I have been any time six months. 

I '11 prove it, an' thou 'It let me. [arm about her. 
Ba7-b. Get away ! 

You 're a Messere ; and you make such love 

As I don't want. Besides, I don't love you. 
Giac. Bah, now, that 's cruel ! — Did Gasparo Beccari 

Offer to save thy master, for the hand 

Of Monna Angelica? I don't believe it I Thou hast 

Misheard; this pretty ear 's too small, [toying ivithit. 
Barb. Let it alone ! it serves me well enough. 

Didn't I hear him offer at her feet 

To lay his fortune, if she would lift it up. 

And him with it ? 

Giac. That was pretty. And what said she ? 



ACT III. SC. 3. 335 

Barh. Said ? We are Montanini. {affecting grandeur. 

Take up, she, 
A butcher's son, although he be a Signor ! 
She walk'd away — we both of us walk'd away, 
And bade him find the door out for himself.- 
There now. But — \loohing off, to the left. 

go away, you devil I — go ! — 
I must for my water. [ Goes up to the fountain. 

GriACOMO turns off at the right, exclaiming exultingly, hut 
in a smothered voice, and with clenched hand, 

Oiac. Aha ! I have thee now ! 

\_Exit Oiac, — ivhile 

Enter, simultaneously, from the left, 
Antonello. 

Anton. [jerJdng Barb, by the elbow, while she affects to be busy 
dipping. 
Was n't that Messer G-radenata, with thee ? 
Barb, [without turning. 

No, saucy ! Say it was, what 's that to thee ? 
Anton. Much, if thou please ; as little, an' thou like. 
Barb, [raising her pitcher to her head. He does not offer to 
help her. 
I suppose I may speak to just what folk I choose. 
Anton. All 's one to Antonello ! [walking off whistling. 

Only then 



336 THE MONTANINI 



Thou sha'n't choose me. I should n't like my wife 

To pick up such wild gentlemen, that 's all. 
Barh. \;w1io has come foi'ivard — 

setting clown the pitcher and crying. 

dear ! dear I And never oflfer'd either 

To lift for me my hrocca. 
Anton, [ivho has come hack.] — Did n't know 

Thou need'st it — put it on thyself, and down, 

As if 't was easy. Barba ! Come, don't cry : 

Folks '11 be wondering. Kiss, and let 's forgive. 
Barb. I do not want to kiss and to forgive. 

There 's plenty of men to kiss without forgiving. 

Let me go, Nello : Monna Gelica 's gone 

Alone to the prison : I must go after her: 

'T is time I went. 

Anton. A kiss won't take much time. 
Ba7-b. I 've had enough of kissing. 

Anton. Hast thou so ? 

Your humble servant, Donna Gradenata ! 

Monna Cornelia gets no news to-day. [Exit. 
Barb, [looks after him a moment in surprise, drying her tears. 
Then calling. 

Nello ! — Anto ! — No, I won't, won't call him ! 

He ought to know I love him, and don't love 

That saucy gentleman. But I '11 plague his heart out I 

It 's a pretty thing a body can't have eyes 

And use them handsomely, without being hufPd ! 

Won't he come back ? [looking anxiously to the left. 
dear ! dear ! I '11 go 



ACT III. sc. 4. 337 



Straight home and cry them out. I — No, I won't 1 
He sha'n't see that I mind him, if I burst. 

Takes up the vessel again and Exit, looking 
hack and wiping her eyes. 



Scene IV. 

The Prison. 

Carlo. Angelica. 

Carlo. And now, dear Angela, for this happy news. 

Angel. Thou know'st I told thee of the hundred florins. — 

Carlo. Who can it be ? Bertuccio, after all ? 

Angel. I went to him. He color'd, but said nothing, 

And steadily refus'd to take them back. 

Last night I found two hundred more, which Gianni 

Had been seduc'd to receive as partial aid 

From friends unknown ('t was thus the message ran.) 

A lady closely veil'd, of noble form, 

And seeming young, and of most gentle speech, 

Deliver'd it, so he said. 
Vol. IV.— 15 



338 THE MONTANINI 



Carlo. Perhaps Rugiero, 
Bertuccio's son's, young wife. She 's of the blood, 
Thou knowest, of Sozzo Dei. 

Angel. It might well be : 
• But Gianni's prying eyes had found her out. 
Some noble friend, more likely, of our cousin's, 
Whom he has chosen to mask his generous deed. 

Carlo. 'T was nobly done. I can forgive his fears. 

Angel. And now then, Carlo, thou canst leave this den. 
Take Ser Beccari's offer. For Bertuccio, 
We can repay him at our leisure. 

Carlo. How? 
By utter ruin. Angelica, hear me. No ! 
I will not so abuse my sacred trust. 
When our dead parents left thee in my hands, 
My dearest" treasure, as my only joy, 
They did not mean, our father could not think, 
I should so far forget my honor and them 
As for a selfish end, in any way. 
To lessen the slender means their woes had left 
To keep thee in the state where thou wast born. 
'T is little enough as 't is. Heaven knows, to save 
That sweet head from depression, and that heart 
From disappointment and the natural pang 
Of wounded pride. I will not make it less. 
Sell we the farm, the money paid the State, 
The palace must be set to public sale. 
Forc'd on the mart, 't is little it will bring. 
Bertuccio takes three hundred, and the rest 



ACT III. SC. 4. 339 



To what land will it bear us ? Stript of rank, 

An exile from tliy father's home, reduc'd 

To a mere competence or vulgar toil, 

Is this the love I promised, this the care 

Our mother gave thee to ? Thou shalt not suffer, 

Angelica, for my fault. 

Angel. 'T is not thy fault ; 

'T is Heaven's high will. What matters where we dwell ? 

Art thou not with me ? Am I not with thee ? 

Come, Carlo ! come, my brother ! come, my love ! 

Is there a place beneath the broad blue Heaven 

Shall not be Paradise, so thou art there ? 

Is all Siena aught, while thou art here ? 
Carlo. my soul's life ! — But say not. Heaven's will : 

Heaven wills not crime. — I have not told thee. Pon- 
dering, 

In my lone hours, these twelve days' dismal past. 

It struck me that that bold bad man Beccari, 

Having set his heart upon our pretty farm, 

Plotted this charge, to force me to his terms. 

Why start'st thou, and turn'st pale ? So think'st thou too ? 

Speak, my heart's darling ! 

Angel. So I thought but then. 

I 

Carlo. What hast thou ? Thou castest down thine eyes. 

There is some secret cause why thou so think'st. 
Angel. Brother, I meant not to distress thee. Therefore only 

I would not speak. Be calm. The Ser Beccari 

Offer'd this day to give thee back to freedom 



340 THE MONTANINI 



So I would — yield to him my maiden hand. 

Carlo stands for a moment as if thunderstruck — 

Angelica gazing on Mm silently with a 

look of awe. Then : 

Carlo. This passes all the woes that I have borne. 

Another, hut hriefer 'pause. 
Lifting solemnly his hands ;] 

God, who o'errulest all ! canst thou look down 

And see this villain triumph, and his victims, 

His innocent victims stretch their hands in vain ? 
He pauses again briefly, looking earnestly on his 
sister. Then, solemnly, taking her hand • 

Angelica, thou canst not ask me now 

To traffic with that man on any terms ; 

Not did he offer me ten thousand down ! 

I am resolv'd. I Avill not sell the farm. 

It is my duty ; and for thy dear sake 

Gladly I render up a useless life. 

Thou 'It find with good Bertuccio an asylum. 

This he may yield thee easily without fear 

Of implication.' Nor for aught beside 

Shalt thou be owing. The palace and the farm 

Will be for thee a dower 

Angel. Stop, Carlo, stop! 

Hast thou but thought of me, without thyself, 

As if I could be separated ? No ! 

If thou wilt die ;— I too am ready, I. 



ACT III. SC. 4. 341 



The axe indeed will not destroy my life ; 

But 

Carlo, [^pressing her closely to his breast. 

Sister 1 — dearest sister ! — Peace ! peace ! 
Do not speak thus! I yet will think of means. 
Yet there is hope ; yet, yet. Has not Bertuccio 
Provided secretly thus much ? Perchance 
He will advance the rest a similar way, 
And save that sacrifice, which for thy sake. 
Thine only, have I shunn'd. — Dry up thy tears — 

[kissing them from her eyes. 
Where now is Barbara ? The night comes on. 
Angel. I bade her come for me, and wait without. 
Carlo. Adieu, now. 

[iJe taps at the door, which is opened as hefore. 
Waits the girl there ? 

Jailer, [at the sill.l Yes, Messere. 
Angel, [emhracing Carlo passionately — and ivith broken voice. 
Adieu, my brSther ! — Wilt thou ? — 
Carlo, [kissing her on the forehead.] Yes, hope, hope. 
[I^xit Angel, and door closes. 
Hope ? And when hope is gone, which now fast lessens, 
Like the red light of the descended sun, 
What then ? Shall I bring down that angel nature 
Unto a mean condition, to save a life 
Which has so little pleasure, and, her except, 
No real tie ? She will die with me ? So 
She firmly thinks ; but her high moral sense 
And trust in God assure her from self-murder, 



342 THE MONTAlSTNl 



And the rack'd heart is tougher than she thinks. 
And better it is she should remember me 
With sorrow and sad love, than see through me 
Her scanty means of hfe made scantier still 
To extend my weary being. Yes ! it shall cease. 
Forgive me, Heaven, the sin of this deceit ; 
The sole, I hope, has ever stain'd these lips ! 

He leans against the side-scene, 
as if looMng sadly on the fading twilight, and 

Scene closes. 



ACT IV. SC. 1. 343 



Act the Fourth 

Scene I. As in Act I. JSc. II. 

GiACOMO. Camilla. 

Qiac. Thou hast the story now. Why art thou dumb ?. 

Did I not tell thee, G-asparo would jilt thee ? 
Camil. [with deep expression. , * 

He has not done it, though. 

Qiac. No, by St. Paul ! 
And shall not ! I have that will bring him straight, 
Were he bent twice as crooked as he is. 
Camil. Thou ? What hast thou to do with it ? Mind thou, 
Wilt thou, thy own affairs. 

Oiac. I have. Beccari, 
If he would make a fool of thee, has made 

A Hum ! — 

Camil. A rogue of thee, thou mean'st. 

Oiac. Thou art, 
Dense take thee ! a shrewd guesser ; but thy thoughts 
Gro not to the depth of this affair. 

Camil. What then 
Has G-asparo done to thee ? 

Giac. To me done nothing — 
More than to thee ; he has made of me a fool. 



344 THE MONTANINI 



But through me has done — what, by St. Paul I 

He shall undo, if it should cost me [checks himself. 

Go/mil. [after regarding him 

fixedly a moment.'] Come ! 
Giacomo dear, dost think Camilla blind. 
Because she can be dumb at times ? Thou 'rt seldom 

Cheerful or complaisant 

Giac. Don't mince it; say 
I am moody and harsh-spoken ; and I am. 

God knows I have cause ! My cursed luck "What 

then? 
Gamil. ThesC' three days past, thou hast been much more than 
moody. 
Savage in thy moroseness ; thy fierce eyes. 
Sullen and bloodshot, dart at times strange fire. 
And thy clench'd hands keep motion with thy lips, 
Which fold on one another as thy teeth 
Gnash in thy passion, and thy lowering brows 

Are knit together. Often too by night 

Giac. Wilt thou have done ? curse on thee ! Are my veins 
Swollen with water, that I should know thy wrongs, 
And feel I am too far bounden to Beccari 
To dare resent them ; am I less, I say. 
Or more than man that I should brook this insult, 
And not be tortur'd ? 

Carail. Am I less than woman, 
That I may not be trusted to avenge 
My own hurt pride ? If 't is not water swells 
Thy veins, good brother, mine are not of milk. 



ACT IV. SC. 1. 345 



The same blood boils beneath my softer skin 

As flushes thine ; and, credit me, my nerves 

Grive quite as keen perception. So, T say, 

'T is not alone my wrongs, but something more 

Rouses the tiger of thy savage mood. 

" Done through thee ? — what he shall undo ? " 

What 's that? 

Let the beast sleep again, or make me know. 

Who was whelp'd with thee, what the blood thou snuflf'st 

In the tainted air ? 

Giac. [ivith Ms usual scoffing laugh. 

Thy metaphors are choice. 

It is the tiger, is it not, that lurks 

For innocent blood ? Curse on the knave Beccari ! 

He takes a step or tivo, to andfro, 

Camilla watching him steadily from under her hrows. 

I '11 tell thee thus much. Messer Proven zano 

Salvaiii, who, some fifty years ago, 

Was Governor in Siena, and himself 

Did much what Messer Gasparo Beccari 

As a ninth part of the government now would do. 

Being told by the Devil his head should be the highest 

Of all the host at the battle of Valdelsa, 

Thought he should conquer, and Thou hast heard 

the tale. 

Camil. The Florentines cut off his head and bore it 

On a lance's point over all the field.^' What next ? 

Giac. Where is thy "keen perception ? " 'T is the Devil 

Dupes the ninth fraction of the government now. 
15* 



346 THE MONTANINI 



He may give his head for another's : that is all. 
Camil. Thou hast said enough to damn thee, brother Griacomo, 
Say'st thou not more. Say on. 

Giac. Could I but trust thee ! 

! it were such relief to uncloak this secret 
Which gnaws into my vitals ! to obtain 

The assistance of thy cunning to o'erreach him, 
And save the innocent blood ! 

Camil. The innocent blood ? 
Has he then tempted thee to do a murder ? 
Or does it through thee ? 

GriACOMO walks apart, ivith signs of violent emotion. 

— But it is thy secret. 
Thou need'st not tell it. I have heard enough. 

Only [affecting to go. 

Giac. 'T is better to tell all, or none : 
This thou wouldst say. 'T is right. Camilla, stop I 
Time presses : what I would do, must be done 
On the instant. [Pauses and grasps her hand. 
Messer Carlo Montanino 

GiACOMO stops. Camilla, gazing a moment on 

his working featzires, suddenly flings off his 

hand ivith horror. 

Camil. — 1 his day must suffer on an unprov'd charge. 

1 see it all ! Wast thou the accursed wretch 
That swore away his innocent life ? For what ? 
That from his ruin the fiend of Hell, Beccari, 



ACT IV. SC. 1. 347 

Might put another in thy sister's place ? 
Was it for money thou didst it ? Doubly Judas ! 
Gro buy a cord, and hang thyself: thou art not 
Fit to live. [ Goes up the stage towards the door. 

Oiac. Camilla ! — Woman ! — Stop ! '^^ 
Think'st thou to carry it thus ? My heart 's as strong, 
Or stronger than thy own ; my will shall be 
Quite as imperious, if thou mak'st me use 
The rights I have by nature and by justice. 
Justice, I say. What ! darest thou to believe 
I sold the Montanino's blood ? First, hear me ; 
Then play the tyrant. The hell-knave, Beccari, 
Made me to think it was but Carlo's farm 
He coveted, and, pandering to my wants. 
Craftily brib'd me to that step should force him 
To sell 't. I had no thought — thou shalt not think it ! 
To put his life in peril. And now I go 
To save it at the peril of my own. 

Camil. Stop thou in turn. This is all true ? 

Oiac. By Heaven ! 
Tak'st thou me for a villain unredeem'd. 
Like thy damn'd suitor, because I have given my soul 
To the hell-lust of gaming ? Thou shalt see. 

[again titrning to go. 

Camil. What wilt thou do ? 

Giac. Gro straightway to the tempter, 
And force him on the instant pay the fine, 
Or at once hand him over, and myself, 
To the tribunal. 



548 THE MONTANINI 



Camil. And thus ruin both. — 
What dost thou owe him ? 

Qiac. Five hundred florins. 

Camil. The wretch 1 
He had set his heart indeed upon 't, to bribe 
So largely. 

Giac. 'T is my debt entire. 

Camil. No matter 
How vilely 't was incurr'd, thou ow'st it ; he 
His hand to me. Accuse him, and thou losest 

Thy sister's husband, and thyself must pay 

How wilt thou pay it ? 

Oiac. devil ! there 's the chain 
Has bound me to his enginery I 

Camil. I '11 file it, 
And with the servant set the victim free. 
Giac. Servant ? Thou 'rt bitter ! Let it pass. But him I 
How wilt thou do it ? 

Camil. Leave that to me. Enough, 
Thou hast my word. I '11 do it. 

Giac. But on the instant! 

Groes the sun down, the penalty unpaid 

There 's but an hour now left ! 

Camil. It is enough : 
Grasparo will be here within ten minutes. 
Giac. And thou wilt save young Montanino ? Swear it I 
Camil. I swear it by high Heaven I He shall not die. 
Giac. [exultingly. 

He shall not die ! — But work thou well, and quickly. 



ACT lY. SC. 1. 



349 



1 go to the Place, to wait the fatal hour. 

If the bell toll and Carlo be led forth, 

I 'U shout my guilt in public, and the axe, 

If fall it must, shall fall on me, not him. 
Camil. It shall not need : nor his blood, nor thy own 

Shall fleck the sand. I swear it ! Go in peace. 
Oiac. what a load is off my breast ! I breathe. 

I do not smell of blood now. Let mo hug thee. 

'T is the first time I 've done it since I was man. 

He shall not die ! Thou 'It save him ! Thou wilt save him ! 

\_Exit Oiac. 

Camilla loohs after Mm thoughtfully a moment^ then, 
with hrows hnitted and hands clenched: 

Camil. Yes, I will save him. But not as thou dost think. 
I '11 save him by the law. This villain Gasparo 
Shall not wrong me. — My brother is involv'd. 
What then? Shall I be balk'd of my revenge? 
Shall Justice too be thwarted in her right 
Because of kin ? He has sown : so let him reap. 
It shall avail to mitigate his punishment 
That he has sought to save the Montanino, 
And had no thought to bring him unto death. 

[ Goes rapidly up to the door, 

and Scene closes. 



350 THE MONTANINI. 

w 

Scene II. 

In the Palazzo Salimbeni. 
Ippolito's Cabinet. 

Ippolito hefore a table on xuhicli stands a 

casket, apparently of oak, richly 

carved in half-relief. 

Ippdl. The hour approaches. There is left no time 
To think what should be, or of other plans 
Might stead him better, were there only time 
To shape and weigh them. It is wondrous strange 
Angelica's brother should set less by life 
Than fortune. Young, and capable, with life, 

He might redeem it ; but Why ! none but fools, 

Grown desperate, fling away both end and means, 

And, in a sort of childish spite with fortune, 

Will none of life because they cannot hold it 

On their own terms ! He is no wayward child, 

No moody lack-brain. They who know him best 

Make him high-minded, resolute, severe. 

With an exalted fancy that exaggerates 

The claims of love and duty, and a sense 

Of honor like a Roman's of old time. 

Ere Rome was yet an Emperor's or a Pope's. 

He has some serious aim. His known devotion 

To his young sister, — and even for that my heart, 

For that, yearns towards him Ay ! it must be so 1 



ACT IV. SC. 2. 351^ 

He means upon the altar of his love 

To offer his young life ! Thou self-bound Isaac ! 

There shall not want a ram to take thy place ! 

These idle ducats 

Ahout to open the casket^ pauses^ and 

turns round again. 

But "what will he think ? 
What will the world think ? Think I mean to shame him, 
Bound with the fetters of a twofold debt, 
Of money and life, to his ancestral foe. 

Or haply No ! that were a villain's thought, 

Not Montanino's. No ! Think what he will. 
He shall not think me heartless, as his friends 
And mother's kin have prov'd. And thou, Angelica I 

Unlocks and proceeds to open the casket 
as' Scene closes. 



352 THE MONTANINI 

Scene III. 
The Prison. 

Carlo. Angelica. 
Barbara near the door. 

Angel. No hope I no hope ! The hour draws nigh ! My brother ! 

My brother, on my knees, [kneeling and embracing his knees. 
I pray have pity, 

Have pity on thyself aUke and me. 
Carlo, [endeavoring to raise her. 

It is, AngeHca, that I have pity. 

Have pity on myself alike and thee, 

I am thus stubborn. Wouldst thou have me live 

To see thee less than Nature made thee be, 

And Heaven ordain'd ? 

Angel. I never shall be less. 

Be v^rhat I may, than Heaven did ordain. 

Has thou not heard, that to the fleeceless lamb 

The wind is temper'd ? 

Carlo. But the shepherd sees 

A murrain thin his flock, nor does the wolf 

Flesh his sharp tooth the less because his prey 

Is undefended. In Bertuccio's fold. 

Thy guarded fleece wifl keep its silky flocks 

Safe from the wayside briers of the world. > 

Rise up, fair lamb. 



ACT IV. SC. 3. 353 



Angel. No ; here I rest. Is this, 
Carlo, is this thy promise ? Thou didst say 
Thou 'dst think of other means. Thou bad'st me hope. 
Thou mad'st me think thou 'dst seek for other aid 
From good Bertuccio. But for this, myself, 
Myself had sought it, begg'd it on my knees. 
Carlo. And begg'd in vain. 

Angel. As I do now — for mercy ; 
For mercy, cruel Carlo, for myself. 
From thee, my only brother, who I thought 
Once lov'd me only. 

Carlo. Once ? Once lov'd thee ? Once ? 
Is my blood — must I say it ? — which I pour 

Freely never pagan priest yet pour'd 

From the bound victim's veins a freer stream. 
Than that I scatter gladly from my own 

For thy sole sake ! 

Angel. It is not thy own blood ; 
It is our father's. In thy single stem 
Flows all the sap of our three-hundred years. 
What right hast thou to let it out at once, 
And raze the Montanino to the ground ? 
Last scion of the parent tree, stand up. 
And wave thy yet green boughs, and blossom still, 
As G-od commands ! 

Carlo. Angelica ! cease ! cease ! 
Make not what I deem'd virtue seem a crime :. 
Call not our father's spirit to the block ; 
Name me not parricide of all my race. 



354 THE MONTANINI 



Thou art my sister, and shouldst smooth, that way 
I thought to tread so lightly, and must tread. 
'T is now too late. See there ! [pointing off the scene as to 

the setting sun. 
Angel. 'T is not too late ! [start- 
ing to her feet. 
Let me go, brother ! Do not hold me ! 

Carlo. G-o? 

Whither? Before thou reach Suddenly^ Yes, go; 

go quickly. [kissing her passionately, and straining 
her in his embrace. 
Angel, [takes both his hands in hers, and looking him steadily 
in the face, and with solemnity. 
Carlo, my brother, thou hast deceiv'd me once : 
'T was the sole falsehood ever stain'd thy lips. 
Thou mean'st to spare me now the final pang, 
And have no parting. Is it so ? 

The bolts of the door are heard to be withdrawn. 

What 's that ? [wildly. 
They are come ! they are come to fetch thee ! my God ! 
hanging on him with both arms — but her eyes 
straining fixed upon the door, 

which opens, and 

Enter, unattended, the Captain of the Guard. 

Barbara comes forward. 
Capt. It is my happiness to inform Messere, 
The penalty is paid, and he is free. 



ACT IV. SC. 3. 355 



Angelica, relaxing her hold, 
falls without a sound into the arms of Barbara. 
Carlo. By whom ? Who is it ? 

Capt. I know not. This is all. 

[pointing to the warrant 
tvhich he holds open. 

Carlo. Bertuccio ! How shall we ? Angelica ! [turning 

rapidly. 
Hear'st thou ? 
Capt. Messer', she has fainted from excess of joy. 

Carlo takes Angelica in his arms. 

Barbara goes hastily to a water-jug which stands on a table in 

the background, and is seen coming forward with it, — 

the Jailer advancing a step into the cell, and the Captain 

standing hy Angelica's /ee^ with a look of respectful 

sympathy, — as 

the Drop falls. 



356 THE MONTANINl 



Act the Fifth 
Scene I. As in Act I. Scene IV. 

Carlo. Angelica. 

Barbara — in the act of leaving : 

Angelica looking towards her, as waiting her departure ; 

Carlo, with arms folded and eyes on the ground. — Exit Barbara. 

Angel. And now, my brother, [ Carlo takes her hand and gazes 
earnestly and mournfully in her face. 
But thou seem'st not glad. 
Carlo, [after a moment's silence — still gazing on her. 

No, I am sore oppress'd. Though free, I am bound ; 
Bounden forever, save thou loose the chain . 
Angel. What canst thou mean ? How deadly pale thou look'st I 
Carlo. It is my desperate purpose makes me pale, 

And the long pang it cost me to resolve. 
Angel. I heard thee pace thy chamber to and fro. 

And wonder'd. Carlo, what should make thee linger. 
Knowing my longing to receive thy news. 

Carlo. And when thou hear'st it ! 

[He pauses and again looks her gravely in the face. 
Angel. Hast thou seen him ? 

Carlo. Whom? 
Angel. Our cousin, surely. Was 't not Arrigucci 



ACT V. sc. 1. 357 

Thou went'st to see ? thy saviour, Carlo ■ — mine ? 
Carlo. Would that he were ! I were then less perplex'd. 
I saw him not. There was no need. Last night, 
When Arrigucci came not, though I felt 
'T was modesty perhaps that kept him back 
When others wish'd me joy, who was the source 
Of our great happiness, or fear again 
To be committed with the tyrannous Nine, 
Yet — thou hast heard me say — my mind misgave me, 
And better seem'd it me to wait till morn, 
Till the fisc open'd, to learn who really was 
My generous liberator. — 

Angel, [who has listened full of wonderment, 
now eagerly. 

And thou hast learn'd ? 
Carlo. [Ms eyes still fixed on Angel. 

The Chancellor told me Salimbene's self, 

Ippolito Salimbene paid the fine. 

With his own hand. Why how thou pal'st, my sister ! 

And now, thy face is burning ! while thine eyes 

Grleam satisfaction through their tears ! 

[Angel, throws herself on his neck and hides her confusion. 

Is 't so ? 
Wouldst thou then rather it were Salimbene 
Than Arrigucci ? 

Angel, [lifting her head instantly. 
No, no, Carlo, no ! 
Rather 't were almost any one than he. 
Carlo. And so would I. 



358 THE MONTANINl 



Angel. Yet 't was a noble act. 
Carlo. Ay, truly so ! My enemy did for me 

What none of my friends would do ; the heir of those 

Who spent my father's race, lifts up from death 

The last male scion of that hated stock. 

Which, dead in me, would never more put forth 

Or fruit or flower to bear the hostile name. 

'T would wash him snow-white, were he spotted o'er 

With twice two centuries of my foresires' blood ! 

[Angel, looks admiringly through her tears. 
How well that dew becomes thee ! Dry it not ; 
Such Heaven sprinkles on its angels' eyes 
When they applaud in silence good men's deeds ; 
And such is Salimbene. my sister ! 
I fear thou wilt shed other tears anon. 
Bitter as these are sweet. 

Angel What 's on thy heart ? 
Carlo. The weight of obligation, which makes dull 

Its glad pulsations. How shall we repay him ? 
Angel. With our life's service. 

Carlo. Even so I mean : 
And that in earnest, [with same expression — regarding 

her fixedly. 
Art thou then prepar'd 
To be his servitor, as I shall be ? 
Angel. What means that emphasis ? Why that fixed look ? 
Speak out thy purpose, brother. 

Carlo. Salimbene 
Loves thee, my sister. — Over all thy face 



ACT V. SC. 1. 359 

The rose supplants the hly. 'T is the hue 
Not of displeasure, Angela; and my heart 
Trembles to feel the sacrifice it makes 
May be to thee too easy. 

Angel. What is that ? 

Why shouldst thou think that Salimbene 

[embarrassed.'] Why, 
Why with imputed selfishness of thought 
Stain his brave action ? 

Carlo. 'T is not to be selfish 
To owe the impulsion to a generous deed 
To some deep-cherish'd feeling. No base love 
Prompts to great action, and an enemy's life 
Sav'd to win favor in the sister's heart 
Is still high inspiration. Salimbene 
Loves thee, Angelica, and for thee alone 
Has done thus bravely. 'T is with thee alone 
I can repay him. 

Angel. Carlo ! — Dost thou think ? 

Carlo. Of the wide gulf which Fortune spreads between 
Our state and his ? I do. But for that gulf 
I were not now his debtor for my life. 
Well do I know 't is not for me to ofi'er 
What, were we even equals, he should beg. 
'T is not thy hand, my sister. Said I not 
We are his slaves ? And slaves are handed over 
Without condition. 

Angel. Speak not so dejectly. 
And speak less darkly, brother. I but feel 



360 THE MONTANINI 



Thou hast some solemn purpose, whose sad thought 
I read in thy pale visage and chang'd eye, 
But cannot give it shape. 

Carlo. I would tlaou couldst I 
So were I spar'd some anguish. 

Angel. my heart ! 
What canst thou mean then ? 

Carlo. Part we with our all, 
Thou wouldst be there wherefrom to rescue thee 
I would have given my life, wduld give it still. 
But, could I do this, should I have the right, 
For Salimbene's sake ? 

Angel. No, Carlo, no ! 
'T would seem like flinging back the hand he tenderg 
In amity, it may be in atonement 
Of our ancestral wrongs. 

Carlo. I think not so : 
The wrong was what our sires had done to his, 
Had they been strong enough. Still, thus to act 
Would seem indeed like o'erstrain'd pride, or rancor. 
We cannot so repay him. I must give 
That which alone he covets, my sole treasure. 
It is thyself, my sister, and, alas ! 
Without condition. 

Angel. Thou dost mean ? 

Carlo His slave, 
To make my sister too his handmaid. 

Angel. Never I 
'T is not my brother ! not my father's son ! 



ACT V. SC. 1. 361 

Not Carlo Montanino, speaks ! 

Carlo, [mournfully'] Angelica, 

Look on me. Need I ? 

Angel, [ivho has gone from Mm a step 
indignantly, returning and throwing herself 
weeping, on his neck. 
No ! remind me not ! 
Thou wouldst have given thy life for me. And now, 
Wouldst thou make vile and cast away forever 
What was so precious ? Sorrow, and anxious thought, 
And prison-solitude, have made thee wild. 
Thou wilt sleep over this, and waken calmer. 

Carlo. I have slept over it, and I am calm. — 
Listen, my sister, — precious to me now 
More than thou ever wast, if love like mine 
Admit of increase. We had thought it much, 
Had Arrigucci privily lent us aid. 
But Salimbene, openly and bravely 
Like a true man, and in the cause of right, 
Exerts his sympathy, and defies the Nine, 
Scorning their verdict. We had ow'd him much. 
Had he through others but spent on us that sum. 
But thus to take me boldly by the hand 
As though I were a brother, to lift me up 
When others durst not look on me, to give me 
The life that but for him were gone forever. 
This noble friend, this more to me than brother, 
This re-creator, what then shall repay him ? 

Atigel. Carlo ! my brother ! 
Vol. IV.— 16 



362 THE MONTANINI 



Carlo. — Not my life alone. 
That were not to give all I have, not give 
What is most precious in his eyes, and mine. 
-^ But if I bid him take that for which only 

Life to me is worth hving 

Angel. Brother! brother! 
Son of my father ! who art in his place, — 
[sinking on her knees before him. 
Give not to infamy thy orphan charge ! 
Sell all thou hast, let us be poor and outcast. 
I can even serve, if needful ; but not here — 
Not him — not Salimbene ! 

Carlo. Be 't as thou wilt. 
One way remains : it cancels not our debts, 
But makes us not to feel them. Rise, my sister. 
[endeavoring to raise her. 
Angel. Carlo ! wouldst break my heart? 

Carlo. Oh Salimbene ! 
Hadst thou but loiter'd in thy work of love 
All were now over, by a death that seem'd 
Noble as martyrdom I but now no thought 
Of sacrifice for duty lifts the soul, 
And deatli's sharp agony will have tenfold horror 
In that 'tis but the severance from shame ! 
Angel. Death ! And is that thy meaning ? 

^arlo. And what else 
Will lift from me the load I cannot bear ? 
Angel, [rising quickly. 

Then let us die together. Better thus 



\ ACT V, sc. 1. 363 

Than live the death of infamy, Sahmbene, 
Bequeath'd our heritage, will be more than paid. 
Carlo. Of infamy, sister? Hast thou then behev'd 

That such I offer'd ? I ? to thee ? Thou heard'st me : 

Never hase love yet prompted generous deed ; 

And such was Salimbene's. When in anguish 

To be so fetter'd, knowing no escai|»e 

Save death from obligation, the dread thought 

Flash'd like the thunder through my prison'd soul, 

To give for all he had given the all I had — 

All he could value, — when this lurid light 

Burst on the darkness of my spirit and shook me 

With fears that made my very flesh to creep 

With a cold shivering, — though it show'd the way 

To instant freedom, I had shut my eyes 

Sitting still fetter'd, had not reason show'd 

My fears were idle, and call'd the warm glow back 

To my chill'd skin. It was a mortal ague, {shuddering'. 

But it is over ; though I still am pale. 

Angel. Ay, deadly pale, my brother ; and should be. 
Fi on this madness ! It is such : no reason 
Counsels dishonor ; and that wholesome terror 
That made thy man's-pulse throb, and thy warm blood 
That is so valiant chilly, trust it ! 't was 
The appeal of God, thy eonscieuee ; trust it, Carlo ! 

Carlo. Thou wilt not hear me. I would say : — I thought, 
And reason'd with my terror; and my blood 
Ean free again. For well I grew assur'd 
That Sahmbene would but do as I 



364 THE MONTANINI 



In a like case, and rather make addition 
Unto his noble act, than dim its splendor 
By even thought of evil. 

Angel. Then to offer 
"Were but deceit. Carlo, be thyself! 
Let not misfortune warp thy simple faith I 
Carlo. It has not, sistef . When I give thee up, 
Mj^ sole possession that has any worth 
In Salimbene's eyes, my all in mine, 
The sacrifice is perfect and sincere. 
The sense that he will not misuse the gift, 
The knowledge that his nature cannot be 
Both mean and generous, noble and debas'd. 
Strip it of all its terror and half its pain, 
But leave the act still thorough. Thou art his 
"Without condition, subject to his will. 
Angel, [once more falling at his feet. 

Thou wilt not do it ! Thou art still my brother! 
Thou wilt not soil our father's fame, and mine. 
say thou wilt not ! 

Carlo. Not in any way. 
Nor give thee up against thy will. Be tranquil : 
My debt shall rest unpaid. [Raises her. 

Angel. But then ? — But then ? — 
Thou dost not mean ? '^hou wilt — do nothing des- 
perate ? 
She holds both his hands in hers. — He releases one, 
and lays it on her shoulder. 
Carlo. Angelica, were my simple service, vow'd 



ACT V. SC. 1. 365 

For life to my life's creditor, enough, 
Or could I earn by any kind of work 
Sufficient to repay him, it were well. 
But there is no resource for me in toil, 
And my sole servitude would be disclaim' d, 
And, offer'd solely, seem a mere pretence. 
So certain its rejection. Sliall I then 
Skulk in the noontide by my enemy's door, 
Or cower when we meet, his hopeless debtor ? 
My days are melancholy now enough. 
With even thy sunshine over me ; but then ! 
In the bleak shadov/ of a fix'd despair. 
Dead to myself and thee ! I should go mad. 
Would that the axe had fallen in time ! 

Angel. Hush ! hush ! 
Thou wouldst have given thy life for me : not now 
Through me shall that dear life be darken'd over, 
By even a passing shadow of despair. 
With Heaven to aid me, I will do thy bidding. 

Carlo. No, no, not mine ! not mine ! Do thy own will. 

Angel. And that shall be thy bidding, — ever. Carlo. 
Is sacrifice for thee alone ? Shall I 
Not there too be thy sister ? That poor station 
Thou wouldst have steadied with thy corpse, I now, 
To keep thee living, step from, and — Oh Grod I 
Must it so be, will peril even maiden fame. 

Carlo. Think not so meanly of our generous saviour. 
^ Thou wilt see, Angela, all will yet be well. 

Angel. I hope so : yet I fear. Should he — abuse 



366 THE MOJSTTANIia 



The gift which Hark I I will not live. 

Carlo. Nor I. 
We both will go down to our father's tomb. 
And better so, if Salimbene's soul 
Can so defile itself: this world is then 
Not worth the living in, and thou and I 
Were better out of it. — But think on this. 

To-morrow 

Angel. No, no ! take me now, at once. 
Give not a moment ! for — I dare not think. 

Falls on his neck. He presses her soothingly to his breast. 

Scene closes. 



Scene II. 

Same as in Act II. Scene I. 

Ippolito. Cornelia. Domicilla. 

Domicil. Well, I 'm not sorry — nay, I am heartily glad 
The young man is at large. It had been cruel 
To cut his head off for so small a crime ; 



ACT V. SC. 2. 367 

Although, the Montanirio is no friend 

Of ours 

Ippol. But may be soon, [looking significantly at 

Cornelia. 
Dornicil. Why, how thou talk'st ! 

In my day But I should be glad to know 

Who paid that fine. 'T is very odd 1 That Nello, 
I'm sure, knows more than he cares tell. " A noble 

And brave cavalier " [reflectingly.l No doubt I He must 

Have been a bold one. [ Cornelia looks attentively at 

Ipjool., who smiles. 
But 't is surely odd 
His name should not be known. I '11 have the rogue 
Come up again. 

Ippol. [stopping her as she turns, apparently to 
touch a handbell. 
Nay, aunt, 't is not worth while : 
It all must soon be out. And here, in fact, 
Comes the rogue's self. 



Enter Antonello. 

Domicil. Now, Nello 

Anton. Pardon, madam: 
[then turning directly to Ippol. 
Ser Carlo Montanino with a lady 
Waits in the hall, and humbly craveth audience 
Alone of the Messere. 



368 THE MONTANINl 



Ippol. [luith agitation.] With a lady ? 
Domicil. [who has been dumb with amazement. 
The Montaniuo in my father's halls ! 
And humbly craves ! Thou wilt not surely see him ? 
Ippol. Why not ? 

Domicil. Alone? 

Ippol. No, with a lady. Aunt, 
Thee and Cornelia I must pray retire. — 
To Nello.'] Say to the noble gentleman, myself 
Will wait on him immediately. \^Exit Anton. 
Domicil. \_retiring.'\ What next ? 
The Montanino sues the Salimbene ! 
In his own hall ! and humbly ! Times are chang'd. 
Heaven keep us ! Come, Cornelia. \_Exit. 

Cornel, [putting her hand in her brother's luith 

an admiring and affectionate look. 
Dear Ippol' to ! 
It was then thou ? 

Ippol. [smiling.] Didst thou not show the way ? 

IJxit Cornelia after Domtcilla, 

while Ippolito turns to the other side of the scene, 

but hesitating as he is about to leave. 

A lady ! — Angel' ? Too late ! [Stands aside, ' 

bowing profoundly, as 

Enter Carlo, leading Angelica veiled. 

Carlo, ivho is deadly piale, 

returning the salutation loith an air of deep submission, 

speaks with a melancholy yet dignified humility. 



ACT V. SC. 2. 369 

Carlo. Messere, pardon. 

It was not meet that you, who are henceforth ■ 

My lord forever, should descend to me, 

Your servant. I have therefore rather chosen 

To venture uninvited to your presence. — 

Ippol. Messer', the honor that you do this roof 

Carlo. My lord, pray pardon me again. Such terms 

Are not for you to me. What you have done 

Ippol. Ah, pardon me in turn. I have been bold ; 

But only as, I think, you would have been 

Under like circumstance : you must excuse me. 

Will you be seated ? 

Carlo. It is not fit for us. — 

Be not amaz'd, but hear me. What I owe 

I have no means to render, only one. 

You are the master of my life ; I am 

The humblest of your bondsmen, ready ever 

To do your sternest biddfng without stop. 

But that is not enough. I have one gift 

You, will more value. 

Angelica, lolio has hitherto 

leaned drooping on her hrother^s right shoulder, 

noiu grasps his arm in both her hands, 

her head hanging down over them, 

and seems ready to sink. 

Could the Almighty God 

Of all this world but give me once the choice 
16* 



370 THE MONTANINI 



To be so blest as I have been in her, 

[freeing his right arnij ivhile raising her with the other, 
he puts his right hand on her head. 
Or be the lord of all in proud Siena, 
I would take poverty again and this » 
His angel ; for she is my heart, my brain ; 
There is no other like to her on earth. 
Yet, being such, I give her. She is yours. 

[He throivs back Angelica's veil. 
I need not sa}'- to you who are so noble. 
Be kind to her ; you will not use her ill. 
And now, permit me. [Putting out his hand to Ippolito, 
while Angelica J unsupported sinks into a chair. 

Ippolito mistaking the action, 

and still in the extremity of surprise, mechanically 

extends his own, to meet his grasp. But Carlo, taking it 

hy the fingers respectfiUly , raises it, in the 

manner of an inferior and dependent, to his lips, and 

immediately, unth the same melancholy humbleness, without 

looking at his sister, Exit. 

Angelica jp?ffe out one of her hands, 

as if to arrest him,, then, recollecting herself, sinks 

back in the chair, and covers her face luith 

both hands, weeping, ivhile Ippolito stands confounded 

before her. At length rousing himself. 

Ippol. Lady, do not fear, [tremulously. 
I — go to bring those to you from whose lips 



ACT V. SC. 2. 371 

You will more readily learn than mine, that here 
You have but to commaud. But first that homage, 
Your brother in my moment of surprise 
Made me receive, let me return to you. 
My heart goes with it. 

He hneels, and with reverence^ yet tvitli evident 
emotion, raises her hand to his lips. 

Angel. Messere — believe ! 

\hursts into tears. 

Ippol. I do believe — I know — why you are here. 
The sacrifice is holy, is heroic, 
And lifts you higher, were there greater height, 
In my esteem. But that I deern it were 
To insult the helpless state wherein your brother 
Through a too lofty spirit and pride has plac'd you, 
I would here tell you how I have long lov'd, 
Ador'd you. Only from the fear to offend 
Both you and him, have I not ventur'd ever 
More than an outward reverence — and perhaps 
The homage of my eyes. could I think ! 

She weeps, and does not withdravj her hand. 

Yes, yes, thou doubt'st me not ; thou knowest, thou feelest, 
Feel'st in thy own pure spirit, I could not dream 
To impose on thy position. Let me then. 
Ere come my aunt, and sister, who has known 
From the very first my love, and learn'd to love thee, 



372 THE MONTANINI 



Say all. Angelica ! at thy maiden feet 
Ippolito lays his fortune, honor, name. 
If thou disdain them not, say but one word, 
But one, and make them thine. 

Angel, \ivith mingled joy and ten- 
derness, as she hides her blushes on his shoxdder. 
Ippolito ! — 

Scene closes. 



Scene III. and the 'Last. 

As in Act I. Scene I. 

Carlo 

seated at a table 7iear the centre^ his face hidden in his 

hands, the fingers of which are buried in his hair. 

After some moments, 

Enter Barbara from the left. 

She moves a step or two toivards him, then stoops 

and curtsies several times, pausing a little after each inclination. 



ACT Y. SC. 3. 373 

SJie approaches then nearer, so as to attract his attention, 
and again curtsies — his bacJc being towards her. 

Carlo, [half turning his head, then resuming his attitude. 
What want'st thou, girl ? 

Bari. Where is Madonna. Master? 
Carlo, [dropping his hands, hut without looking at her, 

and speaking slowly and with great mournfulness. 
Where ? — Where ? — I would I knew ! 

Barh. God, Messere ! 
Do not speak so f you frighten me. 

Carlo. I meant not. 
Thy mistress is not here. GrO seek her. [sadly, hut loithout 

harshness. 
Barh. G-ianni 
Knows where she is, but will not tell me. 

Carlo. Gianni 
Knows nothing, more than I. He saw me lead her 

Out to the street, and whither. Where — and what 

Go to thy chamber ; thou wilt know to-morrow. 
Go to thy chamber, girl. 

Barbara is about to retire, but stops suddenly by the 

embrasure of a window in the left wing, and appears to look ouf. 

Carlo, hearing her stop, turns round. 

Seriously, hut still without harshness. 

What mak'st thou there 
At the window, girl ? Didst thou not hear me ? Go. 
Barh. Pardon, Messere; there. is something doing 



374 THE MONTANINI 



At the Palazzo Salimbeni yon. [looking eagerly again. 
Carlo, {springing up. 

Ah ! Mercy, God! — What seest thou? 

Barb. People standing 
At the great gate. There 's something to come out. 
Carlo, [motionless in the centre — seemingly arrested by terror. 

And ? Look again, good Barba. Seem they sad ? 

Barb. No, merry. Hear their murmurs ! Look, dear Master. 
Carlo. I cannot look. [Barb, gazing with increased earnestness. 
— What now ? 

Barb. It is — G-iesu ! 
Madonna's self! with Messer Salimbene! 
She looks so happy ! though her eyes are down — 
And blushes scarlet. One hand is in his, 
The other holds in hers Madonna Nelia, 
And Monna Domicilla walks beside. 
Carlo clasps his hands in ecstasy^ but 
stands as before. 
They 're coming hither ! How the people shout ! 
Now Monna Nelia whispers something low, 
. Which makes Madonna smile, but blush still more ; 
And Messer Salimbene scatters gold, 
Which the rogues gather up, first shouting louder. 
They 're in ! 

She starts fi-om the window, and without regarding 
her m,aster, rims across the stage. 
— I knew ! I knew ! O happy day ! 

[£xit at the right 
Carlo. [whOj tottering backward, has sunk into the chair. 



ACT V. SC. 3. Si 5 

I thank Thee, Heaven ! And pardon me my doubts I 
Afte?- a few moments, 
he appears to recover, and resuviing his wonted majesty of mien, 
7noves slowly to the right, where presently 

Enter 

Angelica^ Ippolito, Cornelia, and Domicilla, 

bowed in by Gtianni, and followed by Barbara. 

Angelica rushes into Carlo's arms. 

Angel. Brother! 

Carlo. My darhng ! and my Hfe ! — • Messere, 
I crave your pardon ; and yours, noble ladies, 
That I have made your welcome vs^ait ; but joy 

In this recover'd treasure 

Ippol. Which is mine. 
Eevoke not, Messer Carlo. What you gave 
I come now to accept, not to restore. 
For Carlo's sister is now Ippolito's bride. 

[raises Angelica's hand to his lips. 
Carlo. Noble Ippolito ! you have crush'd with debt 
Your poor but happy debtor. Half my gift 
Has Angela taken away, to give, herself. 
The other yet remains ; for I am still. 
As I shall ever be, your humblest bondsman, 
Ready to do your bidding as my lord. 

Gianni, in the background, betrays consternation^ 

and Barbara surprise. Domicilla gazes on Carlo with wonder 

and interest, and Cornelia with admiration. 

Ippol. You hear him, all? 



376 THE MONTANINI 



Gianni, [muttering^ His grandsire would have heard 
An earthquake sooner ; that is my idea. 
Domicil. And mine, old man. The times are sorely chang'd. 
Ippol. And thou shalt change too, Aunt. 

Carlo, [severely.] Be silent, Grianni. 
The Salimbene's love would fill these walls, 
Though they were left still emptier than thej"^ are 
By Montaninan hatred. 

Ippol. Nobly said ! 
Is 't not, Cornelia ? [looking closely at his sister, who has 
manifested some emotion. 
Carlo, thou hast said 
Thou 'It do my bidding. 

Carlo. [solem7ily.] Truly, in all things. 
Ippol. Make suit then to my sister. Unto her 

I here transfer thy service. Canst thou win her. 
Thou 'It win what 's worth the wearing, and render me, 
Doubly thy brother, lighter i' the conscience. 
As having made restitution for this treasure 
Whereof I 've robb'd thee, [drawing Angel, lightly to him. 
Carlo, [seizing his hand.] Generous Salimbene ! 
Domicil. Now Heaven help us I 

Carlo, [turning to Cor-nelia luith mod- 
esty, yet with dignity. 
Lady, if such as I, 
A man so fallen in fortune and sad of heart. 
Venture to lift his thoughts to such as you. 
Whom under luckier stars he had been happy 
And proud to dare address, ascribe it kindly 



ACT V. SC. 3. 377 

Not to too forward a spirit, but duty vow'd 
To my life's master. 

Cornel. Sir, must I make answer? 
I rate so high my brother's love for me, 
I cannot think he would have chosen else 
Than for my happiness ; and he whose life 
Was freely offer' d for his sister's sake, , 

And whom that sister better lov'd than fame, 
Lifts not his thoughts, but lowers, to such as I. — 
Tppol. [half aside to Carlo. 
Is she not worthy ? 

Cornel, [continuing.] If my aunt approve 

Domicil. That word redeems us all. In my day, maidens 

Ippol. Had hearts of just such pliant stuff as now ; 
And Monna Domicilla was but woo'd 
As Angela and Cornelia must be won. 
Domicil. Child, thou forgott'st me. 

Ippol. No, I but forestall' d : 
I knew beforehand what thou wouldst approve. 
Domicil. [to Carlo.] Sir, I am yet too much a Salirnbene 
To say that I rejoice ; but this believe : 
I truly honor you, and one day may love. 
Ippol. [hugging her, — she struggling in his arms, half pleased, 
half piqued. 
Why, that 's my aunt ! I said that thou wouldst change. 
Carlo, [kissing her hand.] Madonna, I shall strive to win your 
favor ; 
And hope to, will this lady teach me how. 
Ippol. [to Cornel., as Carlo kisses her hand in turn. 



378 THE MONTANIIfl 



Cornelia's ring, thou seest, is soon reset. 
Cornel. With such another jewel as the first. 
Tppol. But burn'd a deeper sanguine in the fire 

Which has not tried the ruby of my love. 
Cornel. I '11 wear them, brother,- both then, side by side. 
Ippol. First ask AngeUca. Half my heart, I said, 

Was long since hers. 

Cornel. And half of Messer Carlo's 

Is still his sister's. Thus I have but one. 

And thou, AngeUca, art not better off. 

These men are but half lovers. 

Angel. But these brothers ! 
Cornel. Ah ! there, Angelica, both of us agree. 

We '11 keep each other's brother; and they shall see 

Which half is better set, with thee or me. 

Gianni, xuho has been curiously watching Cornelia, and working 
himself more and more forward, now advancing to Carlo. 

Gianni. That is the lady. Master, I 'm a-thinking, 

That left the roll of florins at the gate. 

And the same too gave Barbara the hundred ; 

That 's my idea. 
Barb, [to Angel.] Madonna, pardon me. 

The secret now is told ; but [to Cornel^ not through me. 
Carlo. And to our enemies we thus owe all ! 

lady, can my life, which you would ransom, 

And your brave brother, my true lord, has redeem'd, 

Ever repay these benefits from both ? 

So let me be indeed thy servitor, 



ACT V. SO. 3. 379 

And all the idolatry I paid my sister 

Shall henceforth yield its worship at thy shrine. 

[kisses CorneVs hand with evident emotion. 
Domicil. \with tender reproach. 

Couldst thou not, niece, have let me share in this ? — 
Cornel. Dear aunt, I fear'd — thou knowest, thy family 

views 

Domicil. Naughty Cornelia ! was I so mistrusted ? 
But I won't contradict : for, in my day, 
Such things were never thought of. Well ! I hope 
'T is for the better ; but 't is true the times 
Are sadly chang'd. 

Ippol. No, gladly, say, my aunt. 
Domicil. Don't contradict me, dear my boy. 

Ippol. No, aunt: 
For here are foes no more to breed dispute. 
The Montanino-Salimbene one, 
Thou shalt have care henceforth alone to see 
Times change indeed, but let them still agree. 

Barbara, 

who after her brief part in the colloquy has ieen seen to 

go to the window, and there respond hy sign to some signal from 

without, and then steal off from the scene, now re-enters, 

leading in Antonello. Both appear excited. 

Gianni, [shaking his head. 

Always with Antonello ! 

Carlo. What bring'st thou ? 
Barl. [joyously.] The sentence is revers'd ! Ask Nello, Master. 



380 THE MONTANINI 



Ippol. Speak. 

Anton. What she says is true. The Ser Beccari 
Is banish' d and his name struck from the rolls, 
For plotting against Messere Carlo's life. 
Carlo. Ah ! [looking at Angelica, loho turning pale presses closer 
to Ippolito. DomicUla and Cornelia evince as- 
tonishment, — Cornelia's not unmingled ivith 
indignation. 
Ippol. Speak from the beginning. How is this ? 
Anton. Ser G-iacomo G-radenata — whom I met 

One day with little Barba — [darting a look of sly malice 

at Barbara. 
Gianni. Ay, I 've seen her 
With Ser Beccari too. She 's much too easy, 
I 'm thinking, with such fellows : that 's my idea. 
Barb. But not affair. 

Angel. Peace, Barba ! 

Carlo. And thou, Gianni, 
Show more of reverence. 

Ippol. And, good Nello, keep 
Thy feuds with Barbara for her private ear. 
Thou shalt have fuU occasion by and by. 
Proceed. 
Anton, [with more of his usual manner, and speaking ivith 
increasing rapidity as he goes on. 
Ser Giacomo, brib'd by the Beccari, 
Made the false charge, but, horrified to find 
A murder toward, told all unto his sister. 
Monna Camilla goes straightway to the Nine 



ACT V. SC. 3. 381 

Angel. His sister ! 

Ippol. And betrotli'd to Gaspare's self! 
Barh. [significantly.] I think I know the motive. 

Carlo. Ah! The wretch! 

Angel. Thou shalt know all a fitter time, Ippolito. 
Anton. Yes, Barbara lent her motive to Ser G-iac'mo. 
Gianni. She lends too many, I 'm thinking, to such gentry. 
Ippol. Let Barbara alone, my friends. What then ? 
Anton. Both of them banish'd from the State forever — 
Beccari's fortune confiscated — name 
Struck from the rolls — 

Ippol. 'T is retribution just. 
Anton. The fine remitted — Messer Montanino 
Kestor'd to all his honors. 

Carlo. And thus the weight 
Of seven hundred florins is off my heart. 
* Its pulse may now beat freely to thy love, 
Nobie Ippolito. 

Ippol. With thy consent 
I '11 part the seven hundred twixt these three ; 
One half to honest Gianni, and one half 
To Nello and Barba, whom we will make one. 
Gianni, [shaking his head. 

Best make her one, I 'm thinking, with all mankind. 
Barb. Now God forbid, were all hke thee ! 

Carlo. Peace, girl I 
And thou, old man, rein-in that petulant tongue. 
Fit 't were you us'd it, thou and Barba both, 
In thanking that munificence which makes yon 



382 THE MONTANXNI 



Rich far beyond your sphere. 

Gianni. I am most thankful. , 

But Messer Carlo, to your father's son 
I should not need to boast, who serv'd his sire, 
That Grianni, poor and old, takes never money 
Save from his master's hand. 

Carlo. Forgive me, Gianni ; 
Forgive my chiding, — even for those words. 
Which show thy tongue takes counsel from thy heart 
As well as spleen. [^He extends his hand to Gianni, who 
hisses it, with tears. 
Ippol. Yet take it from my sister, 
Who will be soon thy mistress. 

Cornel. And who adds 
What she impos'd upon thee at the gate : 
For 't is thy due, yet scarcely thy desert ; — 
For where are honest pride and faith like thine ? 
Gianni, [much moved and kissi7ig her hand. 
Madonna, I ne'er thought to live to see 
The Montanino and Salimbene join'd. 
And cry with joy at it. But I do. I 'm thinking. 
Heaven makes some curses blessings ; and old times 
Have chang'd now for the better ; that 's my idea. 

Antonello and Barbara likewise make their acknowl- 
edgments to Ippolito, in dumb show. 

Domicil. Mine, Gianni, too. Yet, dear me I in my day 

But never mind ! I will not change again. 
Ippol. Not with the times? Nay, Aunt, play out the play. 



ACT V. SC. 3. 383 

Domicil. Don't contradict, Ippol'to dear. I mean, 

The present happy truce I sha'n't gainsay. 
Ippol. Truce ? 'T is a peace : " I 'm thinking," to remain, 

(As Grianni says,) till doomsday. 

Domicil. And I say, 

Thereto, Amen ! my boy. 

Ippol. Is that the vein ? 

Why then the play is play'd, for good and all. 
Cornel. \in half-whisper. 

Be it. Yet, while Aunt Cilia is in train, 

'T were very well to let the Curtain fall. 



Curtain falls. 



NOTES 



THE MOJ^TAIsTII^I 



1. — p. 263. The Mo.VTANrNi.] Thf» story is fouaded on the 
XLIXth Novel of Bandello. 

2. — P. 264. Carlo di Toumaso Mo^ttanino.] That is, as sub- 
sequently shown (Act I. Sc. 1.), Carlo son of, etc. A mode of writing 
the names of persons that was very common in aU parts of Italy in 
the Middle Ages. 

" Olira a Patris nomine, non Senis tantum, sed et in aUis Italiae 
Civitatibus, consuevere non pauci cognomentum sibi adsciscere. Hinc 
audias Piero . di Tegliaccio, Francesco di Messer Vanni, Cione di Yitel- 
luccio, Neri di Guccio, atque horum similia ; hoc est, Petrum Tegliaccii 
filium, Francesci Domini Vannis filiuin, etc. Rursus in more fuit 
nomina quaedam contrahere, ac veluti dimidiata adhibere ; nam pro 
Alexandra aliquis appellabatur Sandro, pro BartholomoRO Meo, pro 
Arriguccio, ut ego arbitror, Giiccio, pro Ma2)hceo, sive 3faffeo, Feo, 

pro Uguccione Cione Infra nobis occurrent Messer Sozzo 

Dei, et Messer Deo Gucci, qui alibi appellatur Messer Deo di Messer 
Guccio. Eadem ratione in hisce regionibus nobiles Manfredorutn, 
Vol. IV.— 17 



386 NOTES TO 



Piorum, Picorum, aliorumque familiae, Patris nomea in suum cogno- 
mentum olim verterunt." Mukator. In Chron. Senen. Andr. Dei 
prcefat. Rer. Hal. Script. T. xv. 

3. — P. 264. Salimbeni.] Pronounce the e as a in bane. It is 
one of those foreign names which cannot be anglicized without mar- 
ring it. So in the name Bertuccio Arrigucci, which will occur fre- 
quently in the play, sound the first of the two c's as t : — toot'-tcheo, 
— goot'-iche. 

4. — P. 264. VOLPiciNA.] A character-name, the diminutive of 
volpe (she-fox). Pronounce, as in Itahan : Vohl-pe-tche' -nah. 

5. — P. 265. Ser Gasparo.] The prefix of courtesy and of rever- 
ence, Sere or Ser, and, in its complete or composite form, Messere or 
Messer, had at this time been in vogue for only about forty years, if 
a note to that effect in Muratori is accepted, and was at first equiva- 
lent to Signore, Signor, being convertible in the Latin into Domimts. 
In a later age, Messere was confined to members of the bench, doctors, 
and priests, as we read in Varchi. Compare note 12 to Bianca 
Capello. 

Muratori, or one of his co-workers, thinks that the word, in the 
form Missere, came in with the study of the Provensal about the time 
of Dante's master, Sor Brunetto Latini. Cs. in his vol. above-cited, 
in coll. 145, 6, a note to the Sanesan Chronicle of Neri di Donaio.* 
Giovanni Villani however apphes it to personages in periods long 

* Still, I do not think that the example adduced by the commentator is cou- 
cliisive, namely, that in a letter of 1265 to one of the Tolomei is written, not 
a Messere Tolomeo, but Domino Tolomeo. For as Dominus was the usual form 
in the Latin acts and records, etc., so it was very natural, especially in the mon- 
grel Italian employed in that very writing cited, the words should be interchanged. 
See extracts from certain notarial instruments in Notes 1 and 2, p. x. of the Elogio 
di G. V. T. viii. C'ronica. ed. cit. 



THE MONTANINI 38*7 



anterior to that epoch, as will be seen presently.* And in fact the 
reference to Ser Brunetto Latini would itself put its introduction 
back at least a score of years before the period of 1280 assigned by 
the Italian archaeologist, for Ser Brunetto is named by G-. Villani 
among the G-uelfs who fled from Florence to Lucca in 1260 (T. ii. p. 
113, ed. infra cit.) after the disastrous day of Montaperti. This was 
five years before the date assigned to the birth of Dante, who ad- 
dresses his old master by that title in the Shades : " Siete voi qui, 
Ser Brunetto ? " f where it is observable that the plural address of 
reverence, voi for tu, is employed. 

What the comment on the Sanesan Chronicle advances, that be- 
tween the word Messere and the simple Sere the same distinction 
obtains as was usual with Madonna and its contraction Monna, — 
namely, that the briefer term was applied to persons of a relatively 
inferior condition, f as for example, in the case of Ser, to notaries and 

* He goes back indfed as far as the year 1113, under wliich. date, in his 4th. 
Book (c. xxix.), he speaks of '■'■ Messer Euberto Tedesco, vlcario dello 'mperadore 
Arrigo in Toscana." It Is true, VUlani, wlio was contemporary with. Dante, may 
be supposed to confer the prefix after the fashion of his time. 

+ Two other instances in Dante illustrate so f"ully the mode of using both forms 
as to be in themselves sufficient exemplification. In Purgatorio xxiv. we hare 
Messer applied to the Cavalier Marchese, and in Paradiso, at the close of the 
xiiith Cto., adopting a name (Martino) to indicate generally any class of illiterate 
men, he prefixes simple Ser, making it con-elative with Donna {Montva, in modern 
edd.) for the female : 

" Non creda donna [monna] Berta e ser Martino." 
Here we see Monna applied precisely as we do Madam and Mrs. 

X "Non si pu6 negare, che neUa sua origine Sere sia I'istesso che Signore; ma 
h da osservarsi, che i nomi accorciati si davano a persone d'inferior condizione, 
come h noto ne' titoU di Madonna e Monna. L'uno si dava alle Prencipesse ed 
anco a quelle Doime di Nobilti assoluta ; e Taltro aUe Donne NobUi, ma non di 
Condizione Principesca, e alle Donne popolari, ma che erano di Famiglie risedute, 
restando I'altre senza titolo. . . Cosi 6 giustamente awenuto a' titoU di Missere 
e di Sere. II primo si dava fra gli altri a' Giudici, e Dottori, e I'altro a Notai, che 
per lo pill sono al servigio do' medesimi." Loc. sup. at. 

It is indeed a distinction reasonable and natural in itself, that is, arising from 



388 NOTES TO 

simple priests, to which two classes the annotator would appear to 
confine it, — is supported by the usage of old writers. la the list 
of the embassy sent to the Emperor when at Pisa (March 1, 1355), 

we have the names thus set down : " Misser Guccio di 

Talomei, Giovanni d'Agnolino Salimbeni, Misser Francesco di Misser 
Bino Giudice de gli Accarigi, Eenaldo del Peccio, Davino di Memmo, 
Giovanni di Tura E'eri de' Montanini, Ser Mino di Meo Filippi loro 
Notajo." Cron. San. c. 146. It is at this very passage that the 
comment I refer to is made, and it certainly of itself sets the matter 
in a very plain light. The fact too is confirmed by the instance of 
Brunette, who was a uotary. In the 16th century the distinction 
continues to be very observable. Thus, while Varchi the historian's 
father, who was an attorney, is styled simply Ser Giovanni, his son 
is dignified as Messer Benedetto, having been endowed by Duke 
Cosmo with a benefice in Mugello. In that historian's xvth Book 
(T. V. p. 349 ed. al cU.) we have this noticeable passage, which hap- 
pily exemplifies both subjects of the note : . . . " un ser Mariotto di 
ser Luca de' Primi d' Anghiari suo cancelliere " . . where canccUicre 
is evidently used for segreiario, although in the acceptation of register 
of public acts it would put the person it indicates in the same class 
with the notary of those days. 

But the distinction, though I have thought it of sufficient interest 
to be noted for the student and the lover of accuracy, is of no conse- 
quence, even were it practicable, in a drama in English ; and that I 

the customs and thouglit^habits of men, all contractions in names or titles of ad- 
dress savoring of familiarity, sometimes that of affection or of popularity, or in- 
dicating a reverence or respect that is conceded rather than exacted. The 3frs. 
and Ma'am of the English, the Ma'm'selle (fam. and vulg.) of the French, the 
Ustecl of the Spanish, are all analogous corruptions ; arising from precisely similar 
causes, familiarity of intercourse, rapidity of utterance, and the desire to avoid a 
formality which by its frequent repetition becomes not only stiff but disagreeable. 
It is probable also that thence, and not, as Webster is incUned to think, from the 
influence of some Northern language, the word Master in compeUation took the 
slender sound of Mister. 



THE MONTANINI 389 



have disregarded it in the present play, whose action is of 1322, can 
scarcely be held a license even by an Italian scholar, especially as 
there are authorities who would appear to justify the interchange,* 
and even Muratori himself acknowledges, what indeed requires 
no demonstration, that Sere was originally the same as Signore. A 
like remark, so far as the unimportance of exactness in these 
particulars, in an English play, may be made as to the mode 
of placing the prefix, which, in both its forms, is never used 
(that I have yet seen) before the name proper, but occurs before 
the forename only, precisely as the Lon (Dominns) of the Spaniard, 
and the titular address and designation of a knight or a baronet 
in England, f 

6. — P. 269. — the dainty Three . . . my father'' s day Saw 
disinterred, etc.] I have forgotten my authority for this fact. But 
the following passage, from a weU-written guide-book of travel, ex- 
plains fully the text, if it is not indeed the very source to which 
perhaps I was indebted. 

"In the library [of the Duomo or Cathedral] is also preserved the exquisite 
antique group of the Graces in Greek marble, found under the foundations in the 
13th century. This group, one of the finest known examples of Grecian sculp- 
ture, was copied by Canova, and was so much admired by Raphael that he made 

* See in S. It. Sc. the note just cited. My disregard however of this distino 
tion, as well as of the mode of employing it, arose probably from the incomplete- 
ness of my information at the time. Unimportant as I admit them to be in 
English, I should, I think, had I known better, have carefully observed both these 
niceties of ancient Italian usage, if only as a point of costume. A voluntary error 
of the sort would have been a deviation from truth. 

1 1 need hardly add that our Sir, used in ordinary compeUation, is precisely 
the same word. With us too, that is in EngUsh, it was anciently given as a title 
to priests. It is interesting to observe how in modem intercourse these distinc- 
tions become less and less certain and are finally wiped away, precisely as the 
plural style of address has almost excluded from ordinary conversation the thou 
and thee which at one time indicated inferiority. 



390 NOTES TO 



a sketch of it, which is stUl preserved in the Academy of Venice. It is also sup- 
posed to have suggested the picture of the Graces by Raphael, formerly in Sir 
Thomas Lawrence's collection, and afterwards in that of the lat^e Lord Dudley." 
Blewttt's Handbook of Central Italy, 2d ed. 1850. 

7. — P. 271. What, my fair Volscian, though not Dianas nymph.'\ 
In allusion to the Camilla of Virgil. 

" Hos super advenit, Volsca de gente, Camilla." 

^n. vii. 803. ed. Hunter : Andr. 1799. 

"Est et, Volscomm egregia de gente, Camilla, 
Agmen agens equitum et florentis aere catervas." XI. 43.3. 

Her father had dedicated her when an infant to Diana, in the emer- 
gence recounted ib. 539, sqq. And the goddess, deploring the fate 
of the maiden queen, says there : 

" VeUem hand correpta fuisset 
Militia tali, conata lacessere Teucros : 
Cara mihi comitumque foret nunc una meanim." 

8. — P. 273. Thou ^dst like again to venture fl At this place was 
inserted in the copy the following stage-direction : The door above is 
seen to open a little way, and the face of Camilla appears in the ojnn- 
ing. But in the original Ms., I find I had remarked in the margin : 
" Or without this ; as it is more natural that the door should not be 
opened, and this indication to the spectators that the party is listen- 
ing is a commonplace stage-action, Camilla's words at the close of 
the Scene, and previously the noise she makes behind the door 
which startles Gaspar, are enough, and more refined, for the prirted 
drama at least." 

I am still of that opinion. But for the Stage the by-play, though 
both unnatural and commonplace, is perhaps requisite, and certainly 
aids the intelligence of a mixed audience. I sliaU therefore indicate 



THE MONTAKINI 391 



here, in the Notes, the remaining directions that are omitted from the 
Scene. They number from this point, 8, to 13 inchasive. 

9. — P. 274. Camilla draws the door to again. 

10. — P. 274. Giacomo sits again sullenly. Beccari draws his 
chair closer to him — in so doing looks once more at the door, but it is 
not yet reopened. 

11. — ^P. 274. Camilla appears listening again. 

12. — P. 275. Camilla, from behind the door, shakes her finger 
at him. 

13 — P. 275. Camilla shakes her fist at Giacomo, hut in the move- 
Tnent makes a noise, and quickly closes the door, ere Beccari turning 
hastily com detect her. 

14. — P. 280. — bowing reverent-bw . . . he yields the path, 
etc.] The streets of Siena are very narrow ; so that the courtesy 
was almost imperative. 

15. — P. 289. — the Arbia.'] The httla stream which flows by 
Siena. 

16. — P. 289. - the she-wolf — ] The emblem of Siena, which 
is stuck up in various parts of the city, as tlie bear is in Bern. 

1*7. — P. 289. — the great Countess — ] Matilda of Tuscany 
the friend of Pope Hildebrand. 

18. — P. 289. — Sane'si — ] The Itahan, or rather, Tuscan 
name for the people of Siena. 

The origin of the city is ascribed by ViUanito the old and invalided 
soldiers of Charles Martel, left by liim in that locahty in 670 ; 
whence its first name Sena (and in the pi., for the double strong- 



392 NOTES TO 

hold, Senae), " derivando di quelli che v' erano rimasi per vec- 
chiezza " Cron I. Ivi. p. 73 sq. t. 1, ed. cit. 

This is contrary to the opinion generally entertained, which would 
put it so far back as the Senensis Colonia of Pliny. In the Handbook 
just cited, we are told : " Siena preserves, almost without change, the 
name of Sena Julia, and is supposed to have been a colony estab- 
lished by Julius Cgesar " (meaning probably, in his time). 

19. — P. 291. Gelica — ] This abbreviation of names (here and 
elsewhere in the play) was the custom of the day, and is therefore 
characteristic of the period of the action. The famihar instance of 
the contemporary poet Dante will occur to the reader : Dante for 
Durante; as the lady he has immortalized by the complete name of 
Beatrice was commonly known as Bice. 

I have touched lightly on this subject before, at p. 256 of this 
vol. Comp., above, Notes 2 and 5. In aU the modern tongues, 
including our own, we are familiar with similar abbreviations. The 
diiference is, that at the present day the contracted name is often 
Tiilgar, and always familiar, if not disrespectful ; in those days it 
was of general usage, and conveyed no disparagement, and if not 
elegant yet did not savor of vulgarity. 

20. - P. 292. Plotting with Deo of the Tolomei, The banished 
Gitelf!] He was, with Messer Sozzo Dei, one of the heads of the 
conspiracy which had terminated in their expulsion, and that of 
their confederates, three years previously. See G. Villani, IX. 
xcvi. (t. iv. p. 95 ed. cit.) The influence of the Salimbeni, who in 
part were on the side of the existing government, and the readiness 
of the Tolomei, in their feud with that family, to make it an occa- 
sion of revolt, are seen in the same chapter. Further on in Book 
IX., the mutual enmity, and at the same time the power of these 
rival houses, find brief but sufficient illustration in the following 
passages: — "Nell' anno 1322, del mese d'Aprile, la citta di Siena 



THE MONTANINI 393 



fu a romore per cagione che quegli della casa de' Salimbeni uccisono 
una notte due fratelli carnaK figliuoli di cavaliere della casa de' 
Tolomei, loro nemici, nelle loro case. Per la potenza delle dette 
due case i Sanesi quasi tutti parati per combattersi insieme, ec." 
cxlvii. p. 139 sq. " Nel detto aano [1326] ... 11 duca di Cala- 
vra cou sua baronia e cavalieri entrd nella citta di Siena . . . 
Trovo la terra molto partita per la guerra cli' era intra 'Tolomei e' 
Salimbeni, che quasi tutti i cittadini cLi tenea coll' uno e clii coll' 
altro . . . e '1 duca cosi fece, die tra le duo case Tolomei e 
Salimbeni fece fare triegua con sofflciente sicurta cinque anni" 

. . . ccclvi. p. 343 sq. 

In 1337, they made peace together at the command of the Pope. 
Gron. 8m. K I. S. xv. 96. 

21. — P. 292. Gondeimi'd to pay, etc.] This was a constant 
mode of punishment, presumably for the rich and powerful. Thus, 
in the year of our play, fifteen of the Tolomei were mulcted, three 
of them in a thousand florins each. Gron. San. u. c. 54, 

22. — P. 297. — who could lend the State, etc.] " Incontanente 
si provvidono [i Sanesi e gli usciti ghibellini] di moneta, e accattaro 
dalla compagnia de' Salimbeni, che aUora erano mercatanti, ventimUa 
fiorini d'oro, e puosono loro peguo la rocca a Tentennana, e pid altre 
castella del comune." G. Vill. VI. Ixxvi. {ed. cit. II. p. 104.) Gs. 
Note 24. 

23. — P. 309. The people do not like you any more Than do the 
noiles; etc.] 

" Era per lunghi tempi governato il reggimento della Citta di 
Siena per I'ordine di Nove, il quale era ristretto in mono di novanta 
Cittadini, sotto certo industrioso inganno : pero che quando il 
tempo veniva di fare i loro generali squittini, accio che ogni degno 
cittadino popolare eutrasse nello ordine de' Nove, coloro che haveano 
gi^ usurpati gli Uflcj si ragunavano segretamente in uua Ohiesa, e 
17* 



394 NOTES TO 



ivi disponeano di alcuni cui e' voleano che rimanessono nell' or- 
dine, fermandoli tra loro per saramento. E prometteano tutti dare 
a' detti le loro boci co' lupini neri, e tutti gli altri, che andavano 
alio squittino, ch' erano molti buooi e degni Cittadiai, gli riprovavano 
co' lupini bianchi, si che I'ordine non crescea piu che volessono : ne 
alcuno v'entrava che tra loro ia prima noa fosse diliberato : Per la 
qual cosa erano in odio a tutti gli altri popolani, e a grande parte 
de' nobili, con cui non s'iutendeano. Eranvi certi, che manteneano 
questa citta, e guidavano il comune, come e' voleano." M. Villani. 
IV. c. Ixi. in Rtr. Ital. Script. XIV. coll. 278 sq. The historian 
goes on to show, how, with the desire to debase and disfranchise 
Florence by the power of Charles IV., the chiefs in the government 
of the Nine made ov^er their own liberties to that Emperor. 

24. — P. 314. — their enormous ivealth — ] A note to the Sanesan 
Chronicle {I. c. coll. 96, 7) attests at once the great wealth and the 
large commerce of this powerful family. For their wealth, it will be 
suflQcient to quote the first paragraph. " In quest' anno 1337 si osserva 
la gran ricchezza de' Salimbeni. Qui si legge : ' Benuccio di Giovanni 
SaUmbeni era in questo. tempo 1337. Camarlengo, e distribuitore 
de le Casate de' Sahmbeni NobiUdi Siena, cioe de' censi, e argentiera, 
e ramiera, donde che pid anni avea a distribuire infra 16. capifa- 
miglie di Salimbeni circa a fiorini cento mila d'oro." For their com ■ 
merce, it is said that they sold in the single month of January of the 
succeeding year (1338) "ottanta borse ["borse da spose d'oro," 
elsewhere] per 80. spose novella di Casate de' Nobih di Siena " 
Whereupon the commentator adds the remark, " that it demonstrates 
sufficiently the great riches the Sanesan people made by trafiBc, as it 
further makes evident the great NobUity that was then in Siena, 
he not supposing it possible that in any city whatever of Italy in 
his own time there could in a single year be made eighty marriages 
among families actually noble." 



THE MONTANINl 395 



25. — P. 825. — and when the Nine Begin to totter, etc.] It was not 
till thirty-three years afterward that the iniquitous government was 
put down by Charles IV., in violation of his own engagement. See 
Halt. Villani; who remarks philosophically: "E pare degna cosa, 
che coloro, i quali inganuano in Comune i loro Cittadini, e rompono 
la fede a' loro amici, che alcuna volta per queUa medesima sieno 
puniti, e portiuo pena de' peccati commessi." ad init. cap. Ixxxi. 
col. 294. The Emperor entered Siena the 25th of March, 1355, 
whereupon the Tolomei, Malavolti, Piccolomini, Saracini, and those 
of the Salimbeni who were opposed to the corrupt magistracy, with 
a concourse of common people, raised the cry of " Viva lo 'mpera- 
dore, e muojono i Nove e le gabelle I " There occurred the usual 
scenes of violence, with death to some, and spohation ; the expulsion 
of the Mne and their families. The next day the Emperor forbad 
forever the ofSce and order. All who had taken part in the Govern- 
ment, to escape the danger and the infamy with which they were 
regarded as traitors to their own country, went into foreign lands. 
ih. Ixxxii. coL 295. The Chronicle of Feri di Donato records the 
event with more force and greater detail. The Emperor swears to 
preserve the order of the Nine. (They had sent an embassy to him. 
See note 5, above, also note 23 ad c, p. 394.) He enters, the 2Zd 
of March, to the cry of " Viva Lomperadore, e muoja li ISTove ! " cuts 
the chains of the city the 24th. The next day, the 25th, Siena in 
arms. Charles revokes his oath and annuls all the privileges con- 
ceded. — The account of the riot, and its violence, and the over- 
throw of the Nine, is very full in this chronicler. Eobbery; arson; 
death and wounds to some of the order, complete ruin to all, whom 
none, not even the clergy, would succor. Ad ann. 1355. 

26.— P. 332. — five hwbdred golden Johns .'] On one side of the 
florin of gold was the image of John the Baptist, with the legend 
' Santo Giovanni Battista " ; on the other the lily of the republic 
(whence its name), with " Fiorenza." 



•396 NOTES TO 



It was in 1252, in a period of great prosperity and elation, after 
victories over their rivals, that the Florentines commenced the coin- 
ing of this famous piece, gold money not being then in use witli 
them. As it was of extraordinary fineness, it came at once into 
great repute, and its value was so jealously regarded that for nearly 
300 years we find scarcely any if any change either in the weight or 
the quaUty of the metal.* Villani tells us the florins were twenty- 
four carats fine aud that eight of thorn weighed an ounce {Gron. VI. 
liii.) ; Varchi, a little more than twenty-three and seven-eighths in 
fineness {St. Fior. t. v. p. 61. ed. al. cit.), and that every hundred 
weighed an exact pound (t. iii. p. 11 5). But as the latter is so parti- 
cular in his statement, it may be that he has only expressed with 
precision what Villani described in general terms. 

The florin of gold was also called a ducat (V. ib. III. 117), as here 
m Act IV. Sc. 2, and throughout Bianca. 

Of course, whOe the nominal value was the same, as estimated in 
lire and soldi, the actual worth of the coin varied in difl'ereiit ages 
(see Varchi as above, III. 117, 118), and at that distant day a thou- 
sand florins of gold, though in computation but little more than so 
many of our gold dollars, was a very considerable sum of money. 

27. — P. 345. Messer Provenzano, etc.] At Colle di Valddsa, in 
1269, when the Florentine Guelfs defeated the GhibelHnes of Siena 
and their allies of the same faction, and avenged the disaster of 
Montaperti. " II Conte Guido NoveUo si fuggi, e messere Proven- 
zano Salvani signore e guidatore dell' oste de' Sanesi fu preso, e 
tagliatoli il capo, e per tutto il campo portato fitto in su una lancia. 
E bene s' adempie la profezia e revelazione che gli avea fatta il diavolo 
per via d'incantesimo, ma non la intese ; che avendolo fatto con- 
strignere per sapere come capilerebbe in quella oste, mendacemente 

* This had its natural consequence. They not only rose in value in 1531, but 
theywere withdrawn from circulation, and melted or hoarded. Varchi, ut s. IIL, 
117, sq. & V. 61. 



THE MONTANINI 3 9 7 



rispuose, e disse : anderai e combatterai, vineerai no morrai alia bat- 
taglia, e la tua testa fia la piu alta del campo ; e egli credendo avere 
la vittoria per quelle parole, e credendo rimanere signore sopra tutti, 
non fece il punto alia fallaeie, ove disse : vineerai no, morrai ec. E 
perd e grande follia a credere a si fatto consiglio come quelle del 
diavolo " G. Villani. VII. xxxi. (T. II. p. 195.) 

28. — P. 847. Fit to live. G-iac. Camilla!— Woman ! — Stop !] 
This is quite equal in time to the ten-syllable Iambic, — the em- 
phasis in the three last words of the preceding verse being on " art." 
The regular measure however may be observed, by simply substitu- 
ting " "Worthy " for " Fit," and putting the emphasis on " not." I3ut 
the passage loses thereby strength and propriety. " Fit " is the 
word Camilla would have used. 



PEEFATORT NOTE 



THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS. 



It is not my fault that this comedy is written. I should willingly 
have been at peace even with the amaU pretenders who prototype 
its characters ; but they would not let me. All the personal conse- 
quences of its publication must rest with me alone. My book- 
seller has in it no interest but that of a commission-merchant, — 
which is less than some of its famous persons enjoy in the abortion 
and assignation advertisements of their daily issue. 

L. 0. 

, 321 West Nineteenth-Street. 
January 26, 1868. 



THE SCHOOL FOE CRITICS 



A NATURAL TRANSFORMATION 



MDCCCLXVII — VIII 



CHARACTEES 

Sus MiNERVAM, A.M., LL.D.; ^dftto?- o/ <Ae Ethnical Quarterly 

Review. 
Anicula, Editress, under BodTdn, of the Ethnos. 
Fledgling, Literary Critic, under Flunky Weathercock, of the 

Hotchpot Hours. 
Deadhead, Literary Critic, under Polyphemus, of the Hotchpot 

Cryer. 
Heart ANDHEAD, a retired Author and Critic. 
Atticus, Literary Reader for the Brookbank Publishing -house. 
G-ALANTUOM, Literary Critic of the Hotchpot Civis. 
Saltpeter, "^ 

Brimstone, > Underground gentlemen, on a mundane excursion. 
Charcoal, J 

Scene. Slanghouse- Square and its neighborhood, in Hotchpot 

City. 

Time. That occupied by the action. 



THE SCHOOL FOR GRITIOS 



Act the First 
Scene. A street, at its opening into Slanghouse- Square. 

Miter 
Brimstone, Saltpeter and Charcoal, encountering. 

Brim. Well, old Salt (since our Hell-coin' d names, 

Nor our Heaven-stamp'd either, can here be given), 

Missest thou not those jolly blue flames, 

Which, though — not quite as soft 

As the smokeless rays aloft 

In the region men call Heaven — 

They kept us mostly waking 

With a something like heart-aching. 

And never promis'd slaking 

Like the one day Earth's hell claims 



404 THE SCHOOL FOE CRITICS 



For a solace out of seven, 
Yet were bliss supreme, I swear, 
To the weariness we are driven 
To encounter in this air ? 

Salt. The weariness ! disgust. 

Why, Brim, thou 'rt losing fire. 
Man's treachery, his lust, 

His ferocity What boots 

Comparing them with brutes ? 
These things wake mirth, not ire. 
The trait which stirs my spleen 
Is to find the beast so mean. 

Brim. But then own it, as is just, 
All Hell holds no such liar. 

Char. That is because we have no Press. 
Although we dabble so largely in steam, 
We cannot throw off ream by ream 
Of lies and nonsense, I must confess. 
'T is an institution that should be ours. 
Its sire was help'd by the Devil they say. 
I saw on the wall of a house one day 
A picture announcing a new old play. 
A printing-press stood in the sky, 
Held up by a cloud, while on a floor, 
In a redtail'd coat which he never yet wore, 
Stood who do you think old Faust before. 
And pointed to the machine on high ; 
Who but the chief of the Infernal Powers ? 

Salt. Had the thing been stuck in a hole below. 



ACT I. 405 

It had show'd too plainly its use you know, — 
As they use it here in Slanghouse-Square.^ 
CTiar. What name is that ? 

Salt. One of apery, 
In all humility stolen, I hear, 
By the loose-hing'd Weathercock quivering here, 
From his ponderous model across the sea. 
In front is the palace in rogues abounding. 
Who draw from the public pot their fare. 
And openly and at all times dare 
What to us is perfectly astounding, 
Who scent more filth in this upper air 
Than would cover all Hell and leave to spare 
Out of its fathomless superabounding.'' 

On that right-hand corner, half sharp, half flat, 
With perpetual simper and old white hat. 
The rider of hobbies plies his trade, 
Who thinks the rest of mankind were made, 
At least that are male. 
To be led by the nose and follow his tail. 
Ambitious and hankering for display. 
But not so genteel 
By a very great deal 
As Flunky Weathercock over the way. 
He joy'd to become an arch-traitor's bail. 
And journey'd far 
To the Southern star 
To take the seraphical man by the hand 
Who fill'd with ashes and blood this land. 



406 THE SCHOOL FOE CRITICS 



Char. I understand. 

'T was an oflfer for station. 

Brim. A bid for the votes of the Soutliern nation, 
When they come again to have command. 
He vranted to cut the Union in two, 
And would do it in four, 
If so it would give him three chances more 
To set his white head white and black heads o'er, 
Which is what the Weathercock would not do. 

Salt. They are going to make an envoy, they say, 
Of Flunky. 

Brim. Aha! That is why, one day. 
To get appointed. 
To the Peojjle's Anointed 
He veer'd, then the next, to be confirm'd, 
To the People's deputies daintily squirm'd, 
And turn'd his tail the other way ?' 

Salt. But let him alone, he is not our game. 

He is mean enough, like his fellows around, 

To put, if unseen, his nose in the ground, 

But sets too much store by an honest name 

(That bauble, you wot, human knaves have found 

To dazzle fools and their wits confound) 

To eat dry sawdust and swallow flame. 

Behind you, — turn round, — 

There is Bodkin's Mhios, that olio sheet 

Where stale pretension and jargon meet. 

Affected science, dogmatic cant. 

And ignorance glaz'd by amusing rant, 



ACT I. 407 

And what to us three makes its chai-m complete, 

An air of candor, high-pitcla'd yet sweet, 

Which Sus Minervam himself can't beat. 

'T is there we are bound. 
Char. For what ? 

Salt Thou shalt see. 

If the Httle old woman, whose girls there prepare 

The dirty linen for public wear, 

Should prove short-handed and pitch on me, 

Why then Sus Minervam, A.M., LL.D., 

May add three points to his double degree. 

Come, Charcoal, Brim, let us onward fare. 
Brim. But give us to know of this mystery. 
Char. And what our Master may want of us three. 
Salt So 't is something to do, 

What recks it ? You two 

Are weary like me of this sluggish air. 

But this much is given 

Ye both to know : 

There is a fellow who wrote of Heaven 

And human wo 

And all that stuff of the Cross you know. 

Who has ventur'd a dip in the lake below 

And fish'd us up, to give us brains. 
Brim. What an impudent gift I 

Salt. More than ye think. 

To make us ramble like men in drink, 

With fustian phrases and sense obscure, 

Would picture us falsely, to be sure. 



408 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



But would be worth the pains : 

For fustian maintains our name's illusion 

With man who is dazzled by word-confusion, 

And finds magnificent and grand 

All that his noddle can't understand, 

And weighty the thoughts from whose tangled skeins 

He fails to draw a conclusion. 

Sus and Anicula, Fledgling too, 

Though, like his master, he points both ways, 

Help us a great deal nowadays 

By keeping this great point in view, — 

Save when his hireling pencil strays 

From the false and absurd to what is true. 
Char. So lucid Longfellow got his due. 
Brim. Not when he labor'd to give to view 

The fanciful picture the Tuscan drew 

Of a place that is known to me and you. 
Salt. Ay, Fledgling was then in his element, 

Serving the Devil with double intent : 

To lick up with neatness 

The spittle of greatness, 

And parade his own mock sentiment. 

Thus the uncouth phrase and the limping line 

Were held out to asses as grain divine, 

And stirring up rubbish he cry'd, " Oh fine ! " * 
Brim. What would ye have ? Was not Swinburne's stuff, 

And Buskin's and Emerson's affectation, 

And Carlyle's Dutch made bright enough 

To Fledgling's ratiocination? 



ACT I. 409 

Though the general mass of the reading nation, 

Beating the thicket for explanation, 

Might sooner guess at futurity, 

Seeing we, who are us'd to what is tough 

And the brightness that makes obscurity 

In our underground relation. 

Were wrapt in amaze 

By the multiple blaze. 

And lost our calculation. 
Salt. Why you 've grown quite letter'd, old fellow Brim, 

Since in coat and breeches here sojourning! 
nrim. 'T is part of my universal knowledge. 

I have the insight 

By infernal right. 

As Sus got his at College. 

I am not indeed A.M. like him, 

Nor mean to purchase the other degree. 

But I have an equal facility 

In affecting all kinds of learning. 

I think, had I a pen in hand, 

And a cylinder press at my command. 

Like Flunky, Brooks and Greeley, 

I might do a devihsh deal of good, 

Like them, or the World, or Benjamin Wood, 

Though I cannot lie so freely. 
Salt. You shall do something better, and teach these fools, 

Especially Sus, and Bodkin's piddler, 

A lesson yet new in the Critics' schools, 

That they who dance must pay the fiddler. 
Vol. IV.— 18 



410 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



Char. Old fellow, well said : 

One would think you were bred 

An apprentice here in Slanghouse-Square. 
Salt. 'T is the cruelest thing you could have said. 

I thought we devils had still some head, 

Despite of our brimstone air. 

But enough. Let us move. Ere the sun be gone 

To the West with his clouded nightcap on, 

Ye shall both of you see, 

And luminously. 

Into the pool of this mystery 

Whose bottom is visible only to me, 

And shall help me a comedy prepare. 
Char. Amen ! as said on his knees Jeff Davis, 

When he pray'd " From our enemies, Lord, save us, 

And let them be damn'd ! " * So mote it be ! 

I scent in the night-air a jolly spree. 
Brim. Pitch and naphtha ! ( I hate to swear — 

But Milton taught me. ) 'T will set us free 

From the chain of this damnable earth-ennui. 
Char. And for the rest may the Devil care. \^Exeunt Diab. 

Enter 
Deadhead and Fledgling. 

Fledg. Well met, Caput Mort. : though our masters agree, 
Like two pickpockets, to scold each other. 
That is meant to blind the world, but binds not you and me. 
To us the phrase applies, 



ACT I. 411 

Crows pluck not out crows' eyes ; 

And we servants of the lamp, 

Though we call each other scamp, 
■ Yet, like beggars on a tramp, 

Are each to the other hail-fellow and a brother. 
Dead. Aj, 't is nuts to see the crowd. 

Because we scold aloud. 

Think both of us too proud 

To shake each other's paw and swig hobnob together ; 

But, let it rain, old fellow, 

They '11 find the same umbrella 

Protects your stovepipe hat and my old felt from the 
weather. 
Fledg. Why, bravo ! you improve : 

That 's a figure now I love. 

Don't be angry if I put it in my Minor Notes to-morrow. 

Though, believe, I scorn to steal. 

Save when hard-up for a meal, 

Yet no one can object that now and then I borrow. 
Dead. Very well ; I '11 take my turn. 
Fledg. Agreed. But I say. Dead, — 

Ah, you know not how I yearn 

To ask you on this head ! — 

Has your scribeship haply redd 

The drama on the Cross * 

And those others 

Dead. — To our loss 

Which some upstart bard 

Fledg. You err ; 



412 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 

'T is an old hand at the game; 

That is plain. Besides, his name 

Fits the collar of the cur 

That snarl'd at us before 

For the blackguard stuff we wore 

And the lies we daily swore 

In the Press. 

As playwrights both ourselves, 

Who have had our trash by twelves 

Laid on the playhouse shelves, 

'T is to Number One we owe it, 

That our scorner, this d d poet, 

Lack success. 

Have you redd him ? 

Dead. 'Faith, not I. 

Does it need to read, to damn ? 

Besides, old 'coon, I am, 

Like yourself, prodigious shy 

Of all writings where the style 

Is above the common run. 

Or where wit excludes low fun. 

Nor the author has begun 

To make it worth my while. 
Fledg. I like your humor, but not your facts ; 

You hint too plainly at certain acts 

Which we never commit in the Hotchpot Hours 
Dead. The devil you don't! Now, by the Powers, 

That is too cool. 

Do you take me, Fledgy, to be a fool ? 



ACT I. 413 

■^ 

Know not all men, do not all men see, 

We differ in form, not in kind nor degree ? 

For scandalous tales of vice and fraud. 

And quack advertisements that serve the bawd, 

And abortionists' invitations, 

Eor all that debauches both soul and mind, 

You are not an inch from us behind 

And our counters might change stations. 

Nay your Sunday sheet, which you loudly swore 

Was the people to serve and would end with the war, 

Peddles tales, as it spouted bombs before. 

And is one of our institutions. 

I should like to know what this all is for, 

If it is not done to get you more 

Of four-penny contributions ? 

You know we are both rogues in fine 

Fledg. In the world's sense. Heady, but not in mine. 

Who hold that safety and honor bid, — 

Here both combine, — 

That we should of this high-topt fellow get rid, 

Whose old-time light, that will not be hid, 

"Will clap on our bushel an extra lid, 

An^ make it more hard to dine. 

So be cautious, my, jewel. 

Dead. Be not afraid. 

For all some folk in the woods may deem us, 

We never do nothing unless we are paid. 

Me and my governor, Polyphemus. 
Fledg. You 're right, by Jove. Had the cash been tipt. 



414 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



I don't think any such flam had shpt 

As those into which Bodkin's quarto dipt. — 
Dead. No, none of us are so squeamous.® 
Fledg. You are right, old boy, though your grammar is wrong. 

But I 'm not much us'd to grammar myself. 

The whole of Murray 's not worth a song. 

It hampers genius ; to get along, 

All that we need is the love of pelf. 

But let us be cautious, and keep to our tracks, 

For our pride's defence 

Dead. And the Revenue Tax. 

You see I am sprightly and well may meddle 

With playing my governor's second fiddle. 

Are you off for your post ? I am bound to mine, 

Where opposite sandstone our marbles shine. 
Fledg. Well, remember to give that fellow a line. 
Dead. Be sure, if — you know — inspiration lacks. 
Fledg. You need not read him : I sha'n't myself — 

Save a page to seem knowing. Misrepresentation 

Of authors, though blinding the innocent nation. 

Lays never their critics on the shelf. 

You know we stab behind their backs. 

Our scraps will die, and ourselves unknown 

Can indulge our malice and not be known : 

None asks if a David have hurl'd the stone, 

Or a ragamufSn beggar. 

If the world but knew 

It was I and you, 

We should hardly dare say what we do, 



ACT I. 415 

And our pottage would prove soupe maigre. 

It is such a delight, 

To perch on a stool, 

And write dunce and fool, 

Under the shade of the veil'd gas-light, 

And know on the morrow 

The author in ire, or it may be in sorrow 

If the creature is poor, 

Has a sickly wife and a starving child, 

Will find himself by a stroke of the pen 

Dead. A stab in the back. 

Fledg. Ay, — for ever exil'd 

From the coveted Eden of famous men, 

And, door by door, 

Seek in vain for a publisher evermore ! 

Is n't that to be mighty ? It adds, my dear. 

Breadth to our breast and a bead to our beer. 
Dead. Let us have some, Fledgy. 

Fledg. You soul, I am here. 

Exeunt affectionately together. 



416 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



Act the Second 

Scene. Anicula's Sanctum. 

Miter Sus Minervam. 

Stis, Out ? "What a pity ! It is more than a pity. 

What shall I do ? This monstrous Hotchpot City, 

Too small a cradle for my pregnant fame, 

Will frown indignant on my letter'd name, 

If I, who am its snufF, its salt, its scalpingknife and cautery, 

Lack pepper for this pupping quarter's Quarterly, 

The case is bad, and there is no evasion. 

She comes I I will address her grandly. 

That she may listen to me blandly 

And minister unto my great occasion. 

Miter Anicula. 

Thou stay and glory of Bodkin's Press, 

From its primal T to its ultimate letter, 

render me help in my sore distress. 

And I'll be forever your debtor ! 

et prcesid' ium et dulce decus' meum'^ 

Have you no more " rejected ", to give me some ? 

Shake up your old drawers, and find me a few 



ACT II. 

To swell out my Quarterly Review ; 

Oh do ! 
Anic. Plague on you, Sus ! can't you scribble, yourself? 

I sold you the last rubbish on my shelf. 

There was the scandal of the Piedmont poet, 

With its pretended knowledge and false taste, 

And its translations, which, not done in haste. 

Yet were so vapid that they seem'd to show it. 
. And there was the fustian stuff on Rowley, 

Who is made to declaim so rantipolly. 

While his critic agape cries " Grand ! Sublime!" 
Sus. Stop there, old angel. 'T was not my crime. 

Little vers'd as I am in nature or art, 

I saw both were outrag'd, from the start. 

Amus'd at once, and not less astounded. 

I fear'd all Hotchpot would be confounded, 

At the time. 

Have pity, that 's a dear good soully ! 

I am in such a muss, 

And have shaken the dust from my wit-bag wholly. 
Anic. Don't bother me, Sus. 

My girls are at work, and 't is all they can do 

To make shifts for me, let alone for you. 

But I know of a means : it is entre nous. 
Sus. Sure ; I '11 take ten times my oath. 
Anic. As you will not keep it, one time will do. 

There is an odd fellow will serve us both. 

He was here but now, will be here again. — 
Sus. my delight ! 
18* 



417 



418 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



Anic. Old boy, be quiet ! 
Would you rob my virtue ? 

Sus. No, to be plain, 
There is none of it left. 

Anic. You beast, I deny it. 
I have lent it at times to you and to others, 
Stock-gamesters and politicians bold, 
But 't is as immaculate as my old mother's 
The day I was foal'd. 
Sus. Well? 

Anic. But hands off! This fellow, who is 
A queer sort of devil and much of a quiz, 
Works quickly and cheaply. 

Sus. Cheaply? joy I 
He may aid me for nothing ! 

Anic. Very likely, my boy. 
You are not very nice, 
In phrases oi' sense, 
(Which lessens the price,) 
And if you disjiense 

With fixing the theme 

Sus. Let him scrawl what he will. 
So I have not to pay and the scribble will sell. 
Anic. In fact, he charg'd nothing for mine. 'T was a favor. 
So I let him select. There 's a tragical shaver 
Whom he wanted to crush, for making Hell logical, 
For giving man's passions to Judas Iscariot, 
For not putting Christ in a fiery chariot, 
And, with syntax and prosody, 



ACT II. 419 

Which ought not in the Cross to be, 

Bowing respect to laws etymological. 
Sus. Heh ! heh ! that is funny ! 

A similar jumble came posted to me. 

And as the confector requested no money 

Anic. Confectioner. 

Sus. No. 'T is confector I mean. 

I us'd the phrase learnedly, wittily too, 

With a double-en tendre quite fresh, smart, and clean. 

As, in one of its senses, your Webster will show. — 
Anic. But you spoke of a jumble. 

Sus. And it was one, I trow, 

A jumble, old woman, to you and to me. 

As the mjxer was flippant enough to seem airy, 

I stitched him with Rowley and Victor Alfieri, 

In my last Quarterly, — which see. 

It is there as it reach'd me, and in no wise doth vary 

Except in the learning which fits LL.D. 
Anic. 'T was the same fingers doubtless that jumbled for me. 

Mine was sheer lies from beginning to end. 
Sus. And mine. G-reater nonsense there could not well be. 

Not even boy Chatterton's trumpery 

Was worse. But still 't was the Devil's god-send, 

That nondescript mishmash on Calvary. 
Anic. Mum ! Fledghng comes. Don't be tempted to brag 

Of our gratis co-worker. Do as you see me. 
Sus. I will do as befitteth my double degree. 

Rest assur'd, ma'am, nor let the cat out of the bag. 



420 THE SCHOOL FOR CKITICS 



Enter Fledgling. 

Anic. Grood day, Fledgling Minor. 

Fledg. Old dame, how do' do ? 

You have done a fine thing. Sus Minerv', how are you ? 

I thought to praise one, and I find two instead. 

But as your duality. 

In this critical matter 

Whereof I would chatter, 

Presents but a unity in its reality, 

You are both so alike 

In what both have said 

(Believe not I flatter ; 

Any fool it would strike 

As well as myself in my strong ideality), 

You have lost, sir and nia'am, each the nice speciality' 

Of individuality. 

And, a great generality, 

I may group the totality 

Of my pensees on both on this point 'neath one head. 
Anic. Little Fledgy, you 're learning, 

I see, in your yearning. 

Your proud spirit burning 

And claws of earth spurning, 

Your small wings to spread. 

You 've consulted Ealph- Waldo, I opine, on that head. 

Excuse me for going. As Sus and I 

Are to be in your panegyric blended. 

What is aim'd at him, if for both intended, 



ACT II. 421 



Will hit me too in the very eye. 

You have left I see your Minor key 

And are strumming it largely on Major-0. 

But pray don't take either of us for a flat, 

While playing your sharps. Sus, remember the cat. 

\_Exit. 

Fledg. What does the harridan mean by that? 
Sus. I vow'd not to tell. 

But as in the Hours — 't was on Sunday, 't is true ; 
That is Munky's venaUty, comes not of you — 
But as in the Hours you quoted me freely. 
Much more so than Greeley, 
And so made me sell, 
I will tell you in confidence ; 
But do, pray, be on your fence, 
And not the fact spill. 
Fledg. To one only, — Deadhead. 

Sus. Him only then. — Well, 
What is the stuff which we write so alike upon ? 
Fledg. "Virginia" and "Calvary." 

^^s. Honker, and Dante No, the Devil You see, 

There 's an odd sort of fellow we both chanc'd to stnke 

upon. 
Who made the. same nonsense for both him and me. 
But I improv'd mine, as behoov'd my degree. 
And made my points good 
*By Fernando Wood, 
As evidence of my Latinity. 
Fledg. Made your points good ! Unmade them, you mean. 



422 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



Why even Fernando would beat you there clean, 

Or, as Dante's great double would say, " dead beat." 

What a phrase is that ! * — If you want to lie 

Against an author, you should not quote, 

My little old fellow, but do as did I 

In my Minor Note, — 

For his language I knew would reveal the cheat. 

Sus. Don't call me old ; for I 'm yet in my prime. 
I am perhaps little, but oh ! sublime. 
What I said then of Homer and Virgil and Dante 
Proves my knowledge and genius, albeit 't was scanty. 

Fledg. It had better been out though, or laid on the shelf 
For another occasion, for on my blind soul, 
Though I don't know much of those Grecians myself, 
As my time is not given to study but pelf. 
There was nothing of fitness or sense in the whole. 
The exordium of an epic tale 
And the opening scene of a tragedy. 
Although, like the multiple flimsy thread 
" The spider passes from out her tail, 

They may both be spun from a single head. 
Are not the same web any dunce may see, 
Nor was there the least concinnity 
In all the rest you said. 

Stis. Why do you prate thus unto me? 
Am I not an LL.D. ? 

And A.M. too, as.it is express'd ? • 

A fledgling — not of your family, 
But of that lofty scholastic nest, 



ACT II. 423 

Which in all countries, as late I said, 

And in all ages, — before there were 

Or scholars or schools, you may infer, 

Where fools are taught to scribble for bread, — ' 

On its annual brood is made to confer 

Fledg. Gratis? 

Sus. no ! that were to err — 

Those letters which at our tails attest 

We are ting'd of the color of the dead. 
Fledg. But that must be hard ? 

Sus. Hard ! Look at me. 

See how I flourish my double degree. 

There is nothing I give to the world, my dear, 

But there my tailpieces both appear. 

To signify my brains are Sear ; 

Yet I am not paler, as you may see, 

Than if I belong'd not to the blest. 

In Heidelberg, so runs the tale. 

Where they keep these tickle-me-ups for sale, 

A British noble got LL.D. 

Conferr'd on his horse.^" 

Fledg. You joke. 

Sus. 'T is true. 
Fledg. Why not his ass ? 

Sus. Had he so thought best. 

And why not as well as for you or me ? 

A letter'd ass — " hand absurdum est." 

'T is "facere well reipublicse." " 
Fledg. What 's all that gibberish ? 



424 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



Sus. Learned words 

I wear at top, like Panza's curds, 

To keep my brainpan soft and warm. 

They have no meaning, but do no harm, 

And help my LL.D. A.M. 

Whenever I sport that double degree, — 

Which is four times a year ; and you must admit 

There is not an ass it would better fit, 

I bray so mellifluously. 

But that is self-jiraise. But, you made me warm. 
Fledg. Excuse, old fellow : I meant no harm. 

TIere, shake our fist. 

There is one thing, however, we all forget : 

This bard, they say, is a satirist. 

And may turn the tables on us yet. 

Though I fear not, I ; 

For Duyckinck, on whom we may rely, — 

His book is a great one — bigger by half 

Than Webster's, or the Bible ; 

Some of the copies are bound in calf! 

Sus. A feature perhaps to make one laugh, 

Who knows that its censure is mostly chafif 

And its praises are a libel. 
Fledg. It may be so. I never read 

Such gallimaufries, not I indeed ; 

I should grope tliere in vain for fruit oi' seed 

To stock my garden o? Minors. 

But Duyckinck says, he had n© success, 

His Vision "fell stillborn from the press;" 



ACT II. 425 

Perhaps because he lack'd cleverness, 

Not to shiue, but to use the shiners. 
Sus. Then Duyckinck says what is not true, 

And what could not be such he very well knew, 

As is patent to me, though not to you 

Who were yet in the nest. But the fact is this : 

The hairy babe was a bouncing boy. 

And crow'd and laugh'd to his daddy's joy. 

And to the heirless neighbors' annoy, 

Who envied him his bliss. 

But he found ere long its nurses were cheats : 

They took their wages, but spar'd their teats, 

To feed their own brood which did not pay. 

So the rather took the child away. 
Fledg. In plainer words ? 

Sus. He stopp'd the sale, 

By cutting off the book's supply : 

A fact he himself took care to imply 

At a somewhat later day. 

Such books as that do not often fail. 

It is true, neither you nor I was then 

In the tj-ade which puts down rising men, 

Although there was then black-mail. 

You may judge though Duyckinck's malignity, 

From the misspell'd name at the article's top 

To the close where he calls him a travel'd fop, 

And has the astounding audacity. 

For a work like that, and from such as he, 

To deny him, except as an oddity. 



426 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



A niche in his hall of letters. 
I know not what other men may think, — 
Some find sweet odors in things that stink, — 
But it would not be with his betters. 

Fledg. Hi I hi ! do you laud him thus ? yet choose 
To scribble him down ? 

Sus. ISTot more I deem 
Than others in heart have done and do 
Who find a pleasure like curs, it would seem, 
In lifting the leg at a profitless muse, 
While they yelp as a publisher's puffer ; 
Than Etlinos, the long Round Rohin, and you, 
And your ape across the Eastern stream, 
The Wart- City Buzzard's stuffer. 
However, the fellow should be content, 
If he is only a curious ornament 
To which Heaven has nothing substantial lent. 
As with Milton, or even with Beattie, 
That the Barnum of letters has spar'd him a nook 
In the rummage- drawer showshop for general look. 
His two-volume Cyclopedei'acal book 
Of American literati. 

Fledg. So, so ; that is frank. And yet yet you admit 
Against him what neither has sense nor wit ! 
Was it done in a Duyckinckish splenetic fit, 
Or is it your love to scoff? 

Sus. For an ass, you have got in the highway for once. 
Like you, I love to call " Dull ! " and " Dunce ! " 
It makes one seem sensible for the nonce. 



ACT II. 42* 

Then, I liop'd he would buy me off. 
JFledg. You try'd that game against the College. 

But Prasses your hints would not even acknowledge, 

And sneer'd both Freshman and Soph. — 

But why did you not, for deception's sake, 

Between your nonsense a difference make 

And the stuff in Bodkin's quarto ? 

The faults in grammar and English alone, 

Without the falsehoods and impudent tone 

And puerile pertness, would 'any one strike 

As drawn from one ditch : in fact, they are like 

As Port is to Oporto. 
Sus. What matters it ? The world may say 

What it likes ; it may call you Beaumarchais ; 

Me Pindar, or G-reeley Cupid : 

'T is known I buy up all hackney 'd and tame 

Rejected articles. Where is the blame ? 

They 're the only stuff for which I pay, 

At least in the literary way, 

And I 'Id swear the Ethnos does the same, 

Though it never was else than stupid. 
Fledg. In one thing, though, you may claim to be 

More than its match. 

Sus. In hypocrisy ? 

Why yes, in that, and post-mortem scandal, 

ISTo prick-fame can hold to me a candle. 

The Round-Robin try'd it on Calvary, 

Which he damn'd with a slaver of sympathy, 

And smil'd like a king benignant : 



428 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



But 't is Bowery-acting to my pretence 

Of friendliness and benevolence. 

Where impertinent and malignant. 

You try'd it in the post-mortem line, 

And fancy'd you'd done it egregiously fine, 

When out of your press issu'd Byron a swine; 

But look how I Circe'd Alfieri ! 
Fledg. 'T was done in my finest retributive mood, 

Because Alger, in his Solitude, 

Had blown him upward as extra good, 

A kind of Castalian fairy." 
Sus. Eh I I thought you lik'd such soap-bubble stuff. 
Fledg. When not too frothy, and quantum suff. 
Sus. 'T is your Swinburne over again in prose, 

But a little more liquid, with more repose. 

And Emerson's verse without rhyming close 

And a devilish deal less tough." 
Fledg. What then? we must worship such men, while yet 

Their fame is up and their life not set : 

In secret thinking, I go as you go, 

And hold Ralph- Waldo, albeit my pet. 

As pompous an ass as Victor Hugo, 

Who seems to think it his right divine 

To bray for all others asinine, 

And, hating the right divine of kings, 

Is in his pride and his ostentation, 

His spirit of logical domination, 

Elation and affectation, 

The very tyrant he prates of and sings." 



ACT II. 429 

Sus. Eu'rje! that 's truth without dilution. 

I cannot see how it got into your sconce. 

After that mouthful, my Minorite dunce, ' 

You may lie for a month and have absolution. 
Fledg. But don't let out that it was my say : 

Such notions would ruin my trade at once. 

Here hobbles Anicula this way. 

I am off. It is more than I can do. 

To parry and thrust both with her and with you. 

Enter Anicula. 

Good day, old lady ; I '11 in by and by, 
When no one can come 'twixt your beauties and I. 
Anic. And me. 

Fledg. Never mind. You might pass the bad grammar, 
For the soft soap it carries. \^Aside.'\ The impertinent! 

d — n her ! 
'Bye, Sus Minervam, A.M., LL.D. 
The greatest critic that ever could be 
Would be one to unite 

The crepuscular glow of your learning's rushlight 
With Anicula's sterling vacuity. \^Exit. 

Enter Saltpeter. 

Anic. He has vanish'd in time, the magpie and ape. — 
Here enters a beast of another shape, 
And bird of another feather. 



430 THE SCHOOL FOK CRITICS 



'T is the gentleman who, 
I mentioned to you, 
Would do for us both together. 
Let me make you acquainted. 
This short sturdy man, who looks like a fool, 
Is not so, Mr. Salt, in despite of his jaws. 
In the Heaven of letters he sings psalms to our sainted, 
Gives pills in our critico-purgative school, 
And is Master of Arts and a Doctor of Laws. 
Salt. What 's his name ? 

Anic. Sus Minervam. 

Salt. A great one. 

Anic. A beater I 
Sus. And pray what is yours ? 

Salt. Mine is simple Saltpeter. 
Sus. That "s The cart draws the horse. 
As we say it in Latin, 

Bovem' trahit currus : but ox falls less pat in. 
Peter Salt, not Salt Peter, I take it of course. 
Salt. No, it is as I tell you. 

Sus. Then Salt^ I opine, 
Was the name of your mother. 

Salt. No mother was mine. 
Sus. Then your father's. 

Salt. I had none. 

Sus. A foundling, ha, ha ! 
A bastard ? 

Salt. If 't please you. Like others, I know not 
The source of my being, though not bhnd to my true lot. 



ACT II. 431 

For aught that I know, I might claim for papa 

That doughty Apostle whose thin blade 't is said 

Circumcis'd Malchus' ear 

Without shaving his head. 
Sus. You mean your papa's oldtime foresire, 't is clear. 

As his name too was Simon, 

That 's a poor stock to climb on, 

And, without amphibology. 

Your Scripture chronology 

Has been, Mr. Salt, much neglected, I fear. 
Salt. Be that as it may. 

This truly I say : 

Like yourselves, I came into this world without will; 

But, unlike yourselves, when I find I 've my fill, 

I shall haste to go out of it, of my accord, 

So soon as my governor whispers the word. 
Sus. Who is your governor ? 'T is not the Lord ? 

You don't look so pious. 

Anic. No, to judge by his eye, 

One would think some one else had his Saltship for ward. 
Sus. I like him for that; that fire would imply 

He 's a dense of a fellow. 

Salt. I am. Will you try ? 

I work on long credit ; sometimes gratis, you '11 find. 

Does it suit, who my governor is never mind. 

You will both of you know him at no distant day. 

He keeps long accounts, and, as you 've seen by the sample, 

Has taught me to follow his princely example^ 

And be not exacting for present pay. 



432 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



Sus. You 're a jewel of a man, Peter Salt or Salt Peter. 
Let us strike up a bargain. 

Anic. My girls call me out. 
I '11 be back to you soon, [going. 

Sus. [aside.] Salty dear, don't entreat her 
To stay with us. Both will do better without. 

[Exit Anic. 

You must know Don't betray me ! 

Salt. No, word of a devil I 
Sus. What an oath ! What an odd fish you are ! 

You must know, 
Our lady-friend's intellect 's under the level : 
She is not an A.M., as I was long ago, — 
( I 'm a Doctor of Laws too, my Quarterlies show. ) 
Therefore put off on her all your flatness and drivel. 
If you have of those articles much to dispense. 
Salt. Sus Minerv', LL.D., I would not be uncivil. 
But, except when I practice a little deception, 
They are products to which I can make no pretence. 
Sus. They belong to the Dailies, I know, by prescription, 

And to Minor-Note Fledgling by eminence. 
Salt. There was some, it is true, in the piece I last sent you, 
C I own it to show I would not circumvent you ; ) 
But in future I '11 give you misrepresentation, 
• Mock learning, bad syntax, and word-ostentation, 
A truly illogical argumentation, 
With a sparkle too of vituperation ; 
And o'er all and through all, and 'mid scintillation, 
Shall lie an amusing want of sense. 



ACT 11. 433 

Sus. Dear Mr. Salt ! As from sympathy 

You serv'd her for nothing, you will do this for me ? 
Salt. I will do it, dear Doctor, because it will be 

For my governor's delectation. 

Sus. And for nothing ? 

Salt. For nothing. But this is to say : 

Better count the cost before we commence. 
r 

Though I charge not, the Devil may be to pay. 
Sus. I am us'd to that in a general way : 

So make haste, and damn the expense. 
Salt. But in all that I promise you flourish already. 

Mac'te virtu te ; be bold and be steady. 
Sus. Ha, ha, you have learning ! That is a new charm in you. 

I will make you my partner ! 

Salt. I should prove rather warm for you. 

I use all the tongues of civilization 

By an anti-apos'tolic inspiration, — 

And certain more beside. 

But let us return to my observation, 

From which we are straying wide. 

You have in yourself all you ask me to give ; 

But I '11 make you in letters the top of the nation, 

And your name for ever to live. 
Sus. How, how, how ? 
Salt. Meet me about a half-hour from now. 
Sus. Say where ! where ? 
Salt. In the Park, at the side on Slanghouse-Square. 

I will introduce you to two friends there 

Who will teach you to prick up your ears in the air. 
Vol. -IV.— 19 



434 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



Sus. I 'm the happiest dog beyond compare 1 
Salt. Hush ! here comes the old sow. 
Be off now. 

Sus. Bow, wow ! 



Sus gets upon all fours, 
makes a demi-wheel on his hands, and Exit 

yelping delightedly. * 



ACT m. 435 



Act the Third** 

Scene. The Parh fronting Slanghouse- Square. . 

Miter 
Atticus, Heartandhead and Galantuom. 

Gal Here lies my street, at the right. Let us stop. 
Att. But not, for awhile yet, the question drop. 
Have you ever redd Cato? 

Gal. To wonder and laugh. 
More than hah" is mere prose. 

Att. And the rest of it chaff. 
There is nothing of nature in all, and the poet, 
If conscious of passion, was unable to show it. 
A schoolboy had written his love-scenes as well. 
To affect to compare then Virginia with Cato, 
Which has scarce one good part, save the passage on Plato, 
To name Eowe and Young, and the pubhc to tell 
That our author was tutor'd in this or that school 
Is to read without books. 

Gal. Or to talk like a fool. 
Why our tragedy-scribe, as the pert lady styles him 
Who does up the Ethnos' old linen for new. 
Has made his own school ; though, while Kound-Eobina 
sell 



436 THE SCHOOL FOB CRITICS 



And knaves that are Masters of Asses revile him, 
He will have to wait long for a pupil or two. 

Att. That is said very well. 

In the teeth of the proneurs of Swinburne and Euskin, 

He has dar'd to talk clearly, has taken from passion 

Her stilts, and despite of prescription and fashion 

Has refus'd to put monsters in sock or in buskin. 

But not in his diction 

And sentiments merely 

Makes he Nature his guide ; 

But in the connection 

And sequence of incidents, where others clearly 

Set nothing by space, be it little or wide, 

And time with its intervals put quite aside. 

And in costume not less, 

In the manners and thought-modes which mark out each 

nation, 
He has labor' d more faithfully such to express 
Than any before him, without contestation, 
Whate'er his success. 

You, Galantuom, in your frank declaration. 
Have sought to commend him as pure in his style. 
I have honor'd him more. 

He has swept clean the Stage which was filthy before, 
And mf^de men be merry without being vile. 
Which is something still better, and I think more sublime, 
Than his hfting his tones without word-ostentation 
And compressing his Acts in the limits of time. 

Heart. The Bound Rohin labor' d, knew not what to do. 



ACT III. 437 

Its conscience prick'd sore, but the author was new. 

So it damn'd with faint praise, and, with impudent leer. 

Affecting the gracious, taught others to sneer. 
Oal. For the trait you mention, 

That impudent air of condescension, 

Which must have made our poet smile, 

And reminded him of the plate where you see 

Beside a mastiff a little cur sitting 

On a footing of borrow'd equality. 

With an air of consequence the while. 

Which says as might words, if words were fitting, 

" Don't mind that big fellow, but look at me. 

I patronize him. To a certain degree 

You may let him have your attention." 

Heart. I remember the print ; the inscription redd, 

" Impudence and Dignity." 

Had the artist the Round Robin in his head, 

Feeling big, and trying to look full-bred, 

With its little rump near Calvary ? 
Gal. Well, so far as the trait you mention, ' 

That funny assumption of condescension, 

I am with you, but not in the good intention 

You seem to assign that pretentious sheet. 

Yet, in its preposterous conceit 

It tells us serenely it holds him no poet ! 

Then quotes and misquotes, and, in order to show it, 

Makes none of its righteous selections complete. 

For fear that its readers should scent out the cheat I 
Heart. You forget one act of liberal dealing. 



438 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



It has honor'd the Devil, who is great in oration, 
With a good long piece of declamation, 
Which, it says, is the nearest to demonstration 
The author makes of poetic feeling. 

Gal. A piece of satirical reasoning 1 blent 
With the kind of brimstone sentiment 
At vogue in the underground dominion I 
In rhyme too ! 

Att No doubt with a double intent, - 
The style of the drama to misrepresent, 
And offend the public opinion. 
Had he been a true critic, he would have Jcnown, 
However lofty may be its tone, 
Impassion'd, pathetic, pointed or strong, 
%) dialogue Nature has rarely lent 
What is call'd poetical ornament. 
The noblest masters of tragic song 
Have shunn'd it as shuns our author, and he, 
By this truth of art and consistency, 
May reap honor late, but will keep it long. 

Oal. So I said, when extolling, what fools decry'd, 
Those two first comedies of his. 
His adherence to nature will not be deny'd 
By those who know what nature is. 
But Heartandhead differs. 

Heart. Not I indeed ; 
Those are main points in my critical creed. 
But I think the Round Robin err'd not of will, 
But spoke to the best of his knowledge and skill, 



ACT III. 439 

With the grandly unconscious droll conceit 
In letters of all such empirics ; 
For we find him assign 

The afflatus divine; 

•a 

Which he could not feel breathe in a single line 

Of our author's most polish'd drama, 

Where think you ? ( it is to take by its bleat 

A bob-tail sheep for a lama ) 

To — oh the amazement ! and oh the fun ! 

To travesty-singing Oonington, 

Who makes the lord of hexameter verse 

His stately and deep-mouth'd epic rehearse 

In MarmioTi's four-foot lyrics. 

This shows that, though better in sense and breeding 

Than Flunky Weathercock's scribbling-man, 

Robin knows not what poetry is, and the plan 

With its incongruity exceeding 

Was nothing strange to the purblind possessor 

Of respect for an Oxford Latin-professor. 
Gal All which is true. 

But, beginning to quote what well he knew 

Was both lofty in tone and ornate too. 

Why did he stop ? Because intent 

To keep from the light his false argument. ^^ 
Heart. Tet he gave, spread out to the public view, 

A foremost passage. 

Gal Ah ! did he so ? 

Tour own kind nature makes you slow 

To detect, beside ignorance, malice. 



440 THE SCHOOL FOE CRITICS 



Quern- Deus-vult-perdere reckon'd o'er 
The fourteen true verses, then stupidly chose 
To invite their contrast with Knovples's four 
Of vulgar, half-ry thmical, fustian prose ; 
No doubt to our poet's amus'd delight, 
For he took the pains both pieces to cite 
In a note to his story of Alice. " 

Heart. I fear you are right. 

Att. Yet you, Heartandhead, in a just cause have done 
More to baffle these fools than of us either one, 
Although you have done it in vain. 
Galantuom wrote honestly, therefore well. 
But he did but his duty in his vocation. 
And on me a like obligation fell 
In a different situation. 
I fulfill'd it too ; but in part with pain ; 
As could not but be. 
Since I hold the theme of Calvary 
Too awful for human brain. 
But you, Heartandhead, who had given up long 
The critic's function wherein you were strong. 
As declare both Poe and Irving, 
Without hope of renown took up agen 
Your kindly and truthful and graceful pen, 
To write back these false or misguided men 
To the path from which they were swerving. 
But the Nightly Pillar was deaf as a post. — 

Heart. Or something worse, for it kept me tost 
On hopes and doubts, afraid to say nay, 



ACT III. 441 

Tet loath to assent, till, my patience lost, 

And asham'd to be put off day by day, 

I told him my mind, and in sheer disgust 

Took the manuscript bugbear away. 

It was worse however with Weathercock's olio ; 

For Flunky is master ; the youth is not. 

Who does small chars for the dames of Hotchpot 

In the Nightly Pillar's folio. 

Flunky stammer'd and shuffled, and talk'd of space j 

Yet my piece was brief, but in eulogy, 

Which did not with his views agree. 

Although I gave him to understand 

The poet had never seen my face. 
Oal. I think it might have alter'd the case. 

Had you gone with cash in hand. 
Heart. Not with Flunky. 

Gal. I know not that : the men 

Who daily damn souls, for simple gain. 

By their lust-tales and calls to abortion. 

Would scarce be affected by shame or with pain. 

That a critical piece by a classical pen 

Should pay in their sheets its proportion. 
Att. Well ? He stammer'd and shuffled — revolving, no doubt, 

How, an old acquaintance, he might get out 

Of the mesh of your application. 

'T is the Weathercock's weakness, as is known. 

To vibrate, by opposite winds when blown. 

On his pivot of gyration. 

Heart. And to turn over patiently stone after stone, 
19* 



442 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



To explain his tergiversation. 
Oal. Why true ; but he 's quite outdone in that 

By the greasy saint in the old white hat, 

Who is like Val Jean in the Miserables, — 

Who, liken'd to Christ in the strife for good," 

Yet tries more tricks to get out of the wood 

Than any beast in Fontaine's Fables. 
Att. Well, — he shuffled and stammer'd and talk'd of space 
Heart. To consider how best he might with grace 

Refuse. 

Gal. Which must have made you smile 

For a half-breed of the mongrel journals, 

Us'd to the haste, 

The scissors and paste. 

Of his piebald minute-liv'd diurnals, 

To choke at an essay of yours. 

Heart. Meanwhile, 

The poet got wind of my design, 

Through a mutual friend, and thinking, 't may be, 

Quifacitper alium facit per se, 

Begg'd, that for his sake, as well as mine, 

I would withdraw it definitively. 
Gal. 'T was a false pride, I think. 

Att. No, he who wrought 

Virginia, and thinks what his Ernestin taught, 

Could do no less, it appears to me. 
Heart. But is it not strange, this hostility 

In the hounds of the Press ? 

Gal. 'T is a personal quarrel. 



ACT Til. 448 

Who wrote Ruheta and Arthur Carryl 

Deserv'd no mercy, you must confess. 
Head. Not had he libel'd by falsehood, as they. 
Oal. " The greater the truth, the worse the Ubel." 

To prove your foes false, yet in what you say 

Be yourself the Bible, 

Is to turn on their foulness the glare ''of day. 
Att. But who of the-se asses first open'd the bray 
Gal. The Etlinos' old lady, who spins a long yarn. 

Then the Master of Asses himself, who, they say, 

Buys all her old fodder to store in his barn. 

The result is so like, not alone in the strain 

Of sliameless untruth, but assumption vain, 

They have had the same devil at work, 't is plain, 

Whoever may be to pay. 
Ileart. Let us go to the Etlmos and find how it. is. 

Att. I 'm not known 

Ileart. But I am to the petticoat quiz. 

'T is worth the essay. 

Come, G-al'ant. 

Oal. Not now. As 1 told you, yon street, 

Where the Civis is, calls me away. 

But, in less than an hour, I will both of you meet 

At Anicula's. 

Ileart. Well then. 

Gal. Grood day. 



444 THE SCHOOL FOE CRITICS 



Act the Fourth 

Scene. As in Act III. 

Sus. Saltpeter. Brimstone. Charcoal. 

Salt. These are my friends. Let me make you known. 

G-entlemen, this is the great A.M. 

Sus. And LL.D. 

Salt. And LL.D., 

Who by natural right of his double degree, 

And that alone 

Sus. No, my Quarterly. 

Salt. And his quarterly sheet of motley knowledge, 

To learning and letters makes more pretence 

With an infinitesimal dose of sense. 

Than was ever yet made, or will be hence, 

Out of a Freshman's class at college. 

Doctor Sus Minervam. 

Sus. G-entlemen both, 

I am not at all proud, being us'd to praise, — 

So am happy to make your acquaintance. Though loath, 

Permit me first a question to raise. 

What are your names ? Mr. Salt forgot, 

Too full of me, and my titles God wot. 

To name the characters in his plot. 



ACT IV. 445 

Salt. This gentleman then, with the fiery nose, 

Is Mr. Brimstone, dull quiet stufij 

If he onlj would keep cool enough ; 

But he is very apt to get blue. 

The other in the iron- gray clothes. 

And with so swart a hue. 

Is a light and spongy fellow, like you, 

Yet with a fibre you can't see through, 

Though neither solid nor tough. 

His name is Charcoal. 

Stcs. And yours Saltpeter ! 

With such a three, 

It appears to me, 

Unless you 're a most outrageous cheater. 

It hardly is safe to keep company. 
Salt. That might be in another place. 

But here, unless you carry fire. 

You 're as safe as you would be in the mire 

Of your own journal's dirtiest place. 
Sus. That is safe enough ; for I scarcely can keep, 

"When I bogtrot there, my brains from sleep, 

And I get stuck fast, with big words and grammar. 

As often as waddling Anicula ( d — n her! ) 
Salt. And now to business. But first, a word. 

Have you faith, Dr. Sus, 

That the spirit-world ever comes to us, — 

I mean to the men of this earth, — as averr'd? 
Sus. By whom ? 

Salt. By hysterical girls who are able 



446 THE SCHOOL FOE CRITICS 



To talk with ghosts through the planks of a ta,ble 

And see through the mop of their chignons. 

Sus. Absurd 1 
Salt, You don't believe then ? 

Sus. A question for me I 

You forget I am a double L. D. 

I believe, Mr. Salt, in all that I see. 

All the rest, 

That will not admit of this ocular test, 

Mental or real, is — fiddlededee. 
i&ilt Some years now gone, 

Your great fool of a credulous town 

GrOt raving Irish-mad with joy, 

Because John Bull with your townsman's aid, 

For his people's sake and not your own. 

Beneath the ocean a means had laid 

To make by a flash his two shores as one 

And some day work to your annoy. 

Do you doubt the flash ? Well, you see it not. 
iSus. But I know its result. 

Salt. And as much might be said 

Of the visit of ghosts to this spot. 

But my friends will do more. 

You shall not only hear as the media do 

The ghosts of the dead, but shall see them too, 

As Saul did priest Samuel's of yore. 
Sn^. Do you deal with the Devil? 

Salt. No ; don't you see 

Uow vers'd I am in Scripture lore ? 



ACT rv. 447 

It is the Devil who deals with me. 
Sus. Don't take me for one you can play your tricks on, 

Like Ferdinand Mendez Pinto Dixon, 

Who found the female American nation, 

On a single married lady's confession, 

Committing puerperal repression ^' 

By philosophical calculation, 

And because his apples were munch'd by one, 

Who found them more succulent than her own, 

Wish'd, for them all, that he might imbue 'em 

With the moral meaning of meum and tuum. 
/Salt. I see you can tell the truth sometimes. 
Sus. When it does n't jar with my vocation, 

And thereby diminish the dollars and dimes* 

But what is that to our present relation ? 

You would have me believe I can see without eyes. 
Salt. Let not that surprise. 

How do you know that you see at all ? 

How many are with me here ? 

Sus. Why, two. 

No, Mr. Brim has slipp'd from view. 
Brim.' Bah ! I am here all the while, nor so small 

But that you might see. if you really saw. 
Sus. Then you stepp'd behind your fellow. 

Brim. Nor that 

Not the toe of my boots nor the crown of my hat, 

The hairs on my chin, nor the tips of my paw. 
Sus. Then you are the Devil. 

Brim. I never bore 



448 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



My swallow-tail'd pennant yet so high 

As the great three-decker who was of yore 

The Lord High Admiral of the sky. 

I may be though a devil for aught you know. 

But that is nothing to you, I trow, 

So that we pay the debt we owe 

And make you see what you doubted before. 
Sus. And keep your promise ? 

Salt. What else ? Your head 

Shall be a more than nine days' wonder, 

And men who pay no regard to tliunder 

Shall do it reverence instead. 
Sus. Before I die ? 

Salt. And after too. 

No man, as I said. 

Nor of the hving nor of the dead, 

Shall prick up his ears as high as you. 
Sus. But say, Mr. Salt, when shall this be ? 

Say where ? where ? that I shall see 

That new-fangled tail to my double degree - 

Which shall lift me up 

Salt. Asinauricularly 

Sus. With my ears prick'd up 

Like a terrier-pup 

Salt. But longer 

Sus. In perpetuity. 
Salt. Ay, when the Griswolds and Duyckincks are rotten, 

And all you have squirted yourself is forgotten. 

Save one divine article 



ACT rv. 449 

Of which not a particle 

Shall be lost to the last of the Yankees begotten,"" 

Your name and your ears 

Shall escape the old shears 

Which, with rhymsters, is set to the thread of man's years, 

And your skull shall as now be begetter of jeers 

When its insides are out like a herring's that 's shotten. 
JSus. delight! the joy! dearest of dears, 

Salty, say when is this prospect to be ? 
Salt. When it suits you to talk less and trot after me. 
Sus. And where ? Say where I 
Salt On the other side of Slanghouse-Square ; 

Where Anicula's lasses 

Soft-soap the asses, 

And do for the masses 

Other journalistic drudgery. 
Sus. But we shall be seen. 

Salt. What matters ? She was our go-between. 

Would you have your glory unnoted, unknown ? 
Sus. Set on I 

With all your combustible matter in one. 

Though all three were ramm'd, 

Brimstone, Saltpeter and Charcoal, together — 

It don't suit the jaws 

Of a Doctor of Laws 

To swear — but I 'm d — d 

If I 'd mind your blow-up more than that of a feather. 

Set on I set on I 

With you, gunpowder three. 



450 THE SCHOOL FOE CBITICS 



Or with you alone, 

Mr. Salt, I '11 see. 

This night, this fun. 

Be it ghost or devil. 

Or both or one, 

To-night I '11 revel 

In the feast of my fame, 

Or may my short name 

Still shorter be 

Of its single A.M. and its double L.D., 

On the front backside of my Quarterly. 

Charge, Brimstone, charge! on, Charcoal, on 

To the DevU, or victory ! 

Kicks over an astonished hoothlach, 
and Exit in a fit of enthusiasm, 
followed by the three with various gestures of 
admiration. 



ACT IV. 451 



AoT THE Fifth 

Scene. AnicukCs Sanctum, as in Act II. 

Saltpeter. Charcoal. Brimstone. 

Brim. What keeps the fool ? 

Salt. OurLL.D. ? 

Brim. The Lord of the Ethnical Quarterly. 

Salt. In his haste to reach the rendezvous, 
The goose fell foul of an apple-wench, 
Upset her pippins, herself afid bench, 
And got for himself in the kennel a drench 
Of the savory stew 
The Hotchpotian Irish corporation 
Keep mix'd for the people's delectation. 
But which to the nostrils of me and you. 
Who are us'd to the ashes and sulphurous smell 
That thicken the air round the craters of Hell 
Where the fires burn blue, 
Is a damnable abomination. 
So, holding my nose, I left him there, 
Lock'd in the claws of the dirt-mobled fair, 
Both kicking and swearing. 
And each other's clothes tearing. 
Two human beasts in a worse than beast's lair. 



452 THE SCHOOL FOB CRITICS 



Brim. I suppose we shall have to await his cleaning ? 
Salt. By Lucifer I yes, he will need repair 

After his pomologic careening. 

He is well pay'd already with kitchen-pitch, 

Both body and breech. 

And will get of calking more than he lists 

From the iron fingers and mallet fists 

Of the shipwright he dubb'd an Hibernian bitch. 
Brim. When he rights on his keel and floats in here, 

We will rig him with standing and running gear 

In such a wise 

Char. His bowsprit at least, 

With its figurehead beast 

Brim.. As will make old seamen blast the'r eyes. 
Salt. We shall give him his desert, in sooth. 

And here a contradiction lies : 

We have punish'd the bard for telling truth. 

The true in art, and in morals true, 

And now we shall make the critic rue 

His false instruction and peddhng lies. 
Brim. But lo, where he comes ! 

Enter Sus. 

Salt. What has kept you so long ? 
Sus. The hussy was strong. 
BeRJre I cut loose 
From her kedge in the gutter 
The bloody Philistin, 



ACT T. 453 

With her great raw-meat fist in 

My joles, while I utter, 

In distraction, a volley of tragic abuse, — 

And that not in Latin, 

Though the slang came quite pat in, 

From my quarterly use, — 

The uncircumcis'd jade 

Salt. Uncircumcis'd? 

Sus. Ay. Don't balk my narration. 

— Demands to be paid — 

Judge my rage, consternation ! 

For her codlings that swim — not in buttery juice. 

Was / not too coddled ? and in the same stuff ? 

'T was a shame ! 't was a fraud ! But afraid of the trollop, 

Who continu'd to woUop 

About me and made the mob jolly enough, 

I agreed, when half-deafen'd, and after ado, 

To take for five nickels the nastiest two. 

Then skedaddled, '•^' got wash'd, and came limping to you. 
Salt. 'T was a Eed-sea escape. You 're a Sampson, 't is plain. 
Brim. With an ass's jawbone. 

Sus. Do not talk in that strain : 

I 've no wish to be vain : 

One Philistine like her, though, might count for a twain. 

But you, Mr. Salt, are a nice friend in need ! 
Salt. Why, what could I do ? 

There were just of you two. 

I thought you well pitted ; 

And as you were fitted — 



454 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITIOS 



Sus. You left me to bleed! 

Humph ! Let us proceed. 
Salt. We are ready. Behold I 

The blinds are down-roU'd. 
Sus. And the candle burns blue. 

The devil ! 

Salt. Not yet. 

He '11 not tread the scene till you get in his debt, 

Though the flame has his hue. 
Sus. Do turn on the gas, Mr. Salty, please do. 
Salt. Doctor dear, do not fret. 

When our drama is through, 

And your glory completed, then light up the jet. 

In this dimness the ghosts will come better in view. 
Sus. Grhosts ! Oh, dear me ! where 's Anicula then ? 
Brim. She has crawl'd back into her inner den 

To get her girls prudently out of the way. 

The dame fain would stay. 

Being jealous, and anxious to share in your glory, 

And go down like you with great ears in men's story ; 

But we knew your ambition, and taught her she bare 

Length enough in her own without clipping your pair. 

But she soon will be back, I will venture to say, 

From her eagerness in the affair. 
Sus. Out on the jade I Such conduct sickens^ 

As much as the money-greed of Dickens 

Who having, after his cockney mood, 

Abus'd us by all the hes he could^ 

Ls coming here for our Yankee pelf. 



ACT V. 



455 



To make a greater ass of himself, 

While we, hke spaniels well broke-in, • 

Forget his thumps and vulgar curses, 

And opening, like our hearts, our purses, 

Beg him to help himself to our tin, 

Then turn up our rumps 
'For more of his thumps. 

And hck his toes till the kicks begin. 
Salt Eh, Legum Doctor ! say you so ? 

That is truth again. Why, you advance ! 

He has not engag'd you, I see, to enhance 

His low grimaces ? 

Sus. Who, Dickens ? No. 

The daily press are made fat instead. 

As they always are when such feasts are spread. 

We of the quarterlies sit too far 

From the end of the board where the Flunkies are, 
- To come in for a share of the broken bread. 

But let us begin. 
Salt. Ere the dame comes in ? 

With all my heart. 

Brimstone disappears, and arises an Apparition. 

What see you there? 

Sus. With the large sad eyes and the youthful hair ? 
His cheeks are pale and gaunt. But what 
Means here and there that discolor'd spot? , 

Salt. 'T is the livid mark of the poison ho took ; 



456 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



The sole post-obit in his look. 
Sus. O, I understand ; and I know him wholly. 

No wonder he looks so rantipolly. 

'T is the ghost, by Jove, of Thomas Eowley 1 
Salt. But hist, till he speaks. If he leave in disdain, 

My friends may not waken him up again. 
Appar. Great Master of Asses and LL.D., 

What had I done that you libel' d me ? 
Sus. 'T is Brimstone's voice. But the ghost is weU-bred. 

I see they have manners among the dead. 

Libel'd ! I wrote in a laud-sounding strain. 

There is no " Shakspearian scholar " more hot 

In the love of his idol's most whimsical blunder. 

Or who takes his worst gong-beat for genuine thunder, 

Than I when resounding your praises, God wot. 
Appar. 'T is of that I complain. 

Gapes there ever a fool 

"Who is fresh from the rhetoric benches at school, 

But knows what sort of stuff you quote, — 

Although it was not all stuff I wrote ? 

Is that the drama ? And such its style ? 

You have taught your readers to stare, or smile. 

That is not nature as now I know it, 

And praising my verses you damn'd the poet. 

Ghost vanishes, and reappears Brimstone. 

Sus. You are here again ! Do you juggle so? 

Brim. I but saw him down ; which was riyht you know, 



ACT V. 45*7 

Since I tickled him up from his snooze below.- 
Sus. Oh ho ! 
Salt. Close up, old pup ; 

Another poet is sailing up. 

Uxit Charcoal, and, Apparition rises. 

Sus. His brick-red curls are sprinkled with snow. 

His light eyes beam 

With self-conceit, and a pleasant gleam 

That is not the flash of the tragic storm. 

And yet I would swear that lofty form, 

With its lively face and expanded brow, 

Is one I know, or ought to know. 
Appar. Me, thou impertinent ! know me, thou ! 

Thou mayst have sense in thy degree 

Sus. In my double degree. 

Appar. Peace, vain fool ! 

Who thought of thy honors from college or school ? 

Despite thy A.M. 

Sus. And my double L. D. 
Appar. Thou mayst have line enough to gage 

The shoal still pool, where no tempests rage, 

Of the Spanish Student^ or measure Queechy, 

Not the depths of Filippo or Polinice. 
Sus. That terrible voice is Charcoal's own. 

Though ten times louder, and haughty in tone. 

I know him now, with his scalp so hairy 

And whiskerless jaws. It is Count Alfieri. 
Vol. IV.— 20 



458 THE SCHOOL FOB CRITICS 



Appar. Cowit unto thee, whose envious hate 
Eeproach'd me with pride in that titled lot 
Which by right of birth so natural sate 
On my father's name that I felt it not ; 
But to the world my works still bore 
Victor Alfieri, and nothing more : 
A pride by you not understood, 
Who have stuck the letters of both your degrees, 
Cheap and unearn'd although they were 

Sus. To that I demur ; 

I paid for them twenty 

Appar. Silence, cur ! — 
Have thrust each cheap, unearn'd degree, 
That men your sole claims to knowledge might see, 
On every side, wherever you could 

Sus. No, Signor Cont^, if you please. 

On the bare backside of my Quarterly, 

And with some of the Press, in notice or puff. 

Whom I patronize for a quantum suff. 

We do all things here tor cash you know, — 

Though you go on tick, I suppose, below. 

Appar. Silence, once more ! — That thou hast try'd. 
Thou to whom honor nor truth is known. 
To asperse my fame, who liv'd and dy'd 
Slave unto Truth, and Truth alone, 
This I forgive, though thou shalt atone 
To that public judgment thou hast defy'd. 

Sus. Have mercy, good ghost, nor deprive me of bread : 
In my next I will take back all I have said, — 



ACT V. 459 

On the word of a critic, and as sure as you 're dead ! 

A^;par. Hound ! dar'st thou deem I ain hke thy tribe, 
To cant or recant as men pay or bribe ? 
Thy aspersions are praise, and another pen 
Shall make of them mirth for the gizzards of men. 
But what I can neither forgive nor forget. 
Until in the regions above I am set 
Where men o'er their wrongs are not suflfer'd to fret 

Sus. And no Minor critics condemn in a pet. 

Appar. A pest on thy pestilent tongue ! — What is worse, 
I say, than thy praise, thou hast made me rehearse 
As I never yet spoke, nor in prose nor in verse. 
Unasham'd thou hast ventur'd to strip off the buskin 
From the feet of my toga'd and chlamydate Tuscan, 
And clap on the socks of thy English instead. 
Slipshod, and soft as the pap of thy head. 
Better in tinsel, cross-garter' d, to tread 
With the stage-strut of Emerson, Carlyle and Ruskin. 

Sus. Peccavi I sed non mea culpa ; not mine 

The soft worsted ; I bought it at sixpence a line. 
The all that I did was to lend it some picking : 
I adopted the cub ; but I gave him a licking. 

Appar. Didst thou so ? Now I 'm minded to give thee a 
kicking. 
But the weakness or want of the flesh has come o'er me, 
And Brimstone and Charcoal must do the job for me. 

Apparition vanishes, and reappears Charcoal. 

Sus. He has wamos'd the ranch.^"^ And there 's Charcoal again! 



460 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



This is all hocuspocus, or masking ; that 's plain. 

Char. Not a whit. Do you think a sixfooter like him 

Could step from his niche in the Shades, nor be miss'd? 

Sus. Why, the chance were but slim. 

Char. — So I took up his place in Probational Hell, 
And escap'd all detection by means of its mist. 
As for masking, how could a paste-board imitation 
Be proof to the lens of your us'd penetration ? 

Sus. Very right, Mr. Coal. Vain to hope it. As well 
Look for judgment in Greeley, or truth in the Nation, 
Bid Raymond stand still for a minute, or Sedley 
Tell more than he hides in his fortnightly medley. 

Salt. What are those ? Of the four, are unknown to me three. 

Sus. One a coverless journal ; the others are asses, 

That mix, though unlike, as do milk and molasses, 
And wake pity and mirth when they bray to the masses, 
' Like the Ethnos or me. 

Salt. My friends now, great Doctor, have shown you their 
power : 
I have kept half my word ;• you know how ghosts look. 
Will it do ? Shall they summon up more ? But the hour 
Is late, and the dame will be leaving her nook. 

Sus. No, give me the rest of your promise ; I long 
To wear my grand ears and be famous in song. 

Salt. It is well : but not yet. You have shown yourself brave. 
You are leag'd hand and glove with the servants of 
Hell — 

Sas. Not with you ? \in alarm. 

Salt. Never mind. — And chop logic as well 



ACT V. 461 

With the pupae whose sordid cocoon is the grave. 

By these two acts alone, 

Already you wear them. 

But forever to bear them 

And by them be known, 

You must prove by your gifts they are truly your own. 
Sus. By my gifts ? How you prate ! Am I not LL.D., 

And was A.M. before ? 

Then give tliem to me. 

By the Powers ye adore, 

By the shame I defy 

"Were it doubled twice o'er, 

Saltpeter, I cry. 

Let me feel, ere I die, 

~My long ears stand up somewhat nearer the sky ! 
Salt. Can you go through the proofs that shall make these gifts 

known ? 
Sus. Through them all ! Only try. 
Salt. hero ! 

Sus. Be quick ! 

Salt. On thy four paws go down. 

And give him the halter. What ! up ? So soon scar'd ? 
Sus. I would hang for the ears ; but my neck must be spar'd. 

Neck or nothing. 

Salt. With us, it is nothing indeed. 

To know you have patience, can keep your own way 

Spite of coaxing or curses — 

Save when flatter' d your greed 

Is by dreams of full purses — 



462 THE SCHOOL FOE CRITICS 



Nor, sliamefac'd, will heed 

The "worst men may say, 

This is all that we need. 
i^us. That exception observ'd, which is wise nowadays 

When a patron is valu'd for what he disburses, 

The rest is as light as to spawn tadpole verses 

Such as Round-Robins praise, 

While Fledgling, who knows not which most to admire, 

A jewsharp, or bagpipe, or ^olus' lyre, 

But dotes on Walt Whitman's batrachian fire,^^ 

Shall, in love with their long tails, the porwiggles feed 

As full-breech'd green frogs of the Horse-fountain breed. 
Salt. What! what! truth again? If you sing in this strain. 

Your ears will be stretch' d to the ass point in vain. 
Sus. Never fear : I but stumble thus trotting alone. 

Or with friends ; in my journal I rein- in my roan. 

And decide by my belly and not by my brains. 
Salt. True metal ! But quick ; on your quarters once more. 

How the halter becomes him ! Now clap on the pack. 

While Charcoal sits woman- wise perch'd on his back, 

You, Brim, jerk his tail, while I drag him before. 
Sus. But don't jerk so hard, or my tail will be torn. 

'T is my best workday-coat and is only half-worn. 

And don't kick so much. Ow ! ow ! 

Salt. If you cry. 

You '11 have more than the dame bouncing in to know why. 
Sus. my ! my ! 

O my seat of honor ! 

Pray, don't spank so hard! The dame — curse upon herl 



ACT V. 463 

Let me up ! let me up ! The dame — d — n the wench ! 

She sha' n't see me stretch'd like a washermaid's bench. 
Salt. Do you pull up so soon ? 

Sus. Up ? 'T is you beat me down. 

My rump 's not an ass's, whatever my crown. 
Salt. But the ears ? 

Sus. Let them go. Ow ! I 'm beat black and blue. 

I can't carry Charcoal and bear your kicks too. 
Salt. Let him rise. It will do. 
Sus. Do ? my back 's almost broken. 
Salt. You have prov'd it of steel. 

And this is the token : 

You have kept your own way 

Like a genuine ass, — though with rather more bray. 
Sus. But, for all that, I feel. 

Now give me the ears. 

Salt. Not as yet. You have shown, 

It is true, soul and carcass, an ass's backbone. 

You must now make it known 

You can swing to the popular breath of the nation, 

And to private dictation — 
Stis. For a gratification — 
Salt. To and fro with a prompt oscillation. 

Or round with a gallowsbird's circumgyration, 

Whatever the compass-point whence it is blown. 
Sus. Pshaw ! I do that with ease ! Not Weathercock Flunky, 

Though daily, more duly, nor his Topical monkey. 
Salt. Let us see ! Hang him up by his weasand.. 

Sus. [in alarm.'] What 's that! 



464 THE SCHOOL FOR CKITICS 



I will not box the compass — save on paper, — that 's flat ! 
Salt. But you must, or no ears. Fix the hook. Trice him up. 
By the coat-collar only, you ninny. 

Sus. You '11 tear it. 
Salt. But the glory, the ears ! Will you lose them, to spare it? 
Sus. me ! I shall dangle just like a blind pup. 
Salt. Or a sheep in the shambles. 

Sus. But whence come these things ; 
The hoop, and the ring in the ceiling, and block, 
With the rope that thence swings ? 
Salt. They are brought by the phantoms on tables that knock. 
Sus. Pheew ! 

Salt. What, doubting? 'T is harder to hurl fiddles 
round 
On the sconces of gazers and make guitars sound 
By invisible thumbs, as your Davenports do. 
Sus. That is true. 
Salt. As the ghosts of the verse-men we summon'd to view. 

There. Up Avith him ! oo ! 
Sus. Oh, oh 1 let me down ! Let me down, or I '11 cry ! 
My brains are aswound. 
My heels kiss the ceiling 
And my skull treads the ground. 
I don't know which is which while my brainpan keeps 

reeling 
And my navel goes round. 

They unhook him. 
Salt. So. You have learn'd vacillation. 
Sus. I knew it of yore, 



ACT Y. 465 

While you slabber'd your mother, or even I trow 

Were coil'd up afcetus in utero, 

To your daddy's delectation. 
Salt. You practic'd then shifting, some ages or more 

Ere the Spirit that brooding sat over the deep 

Put the breathing red clay in his consciousless sleep, 

To produce an equivocal first generation. 
Sus. Oh horror ! I 'm hous'd v^ith the Father of Sin, 

Or one of his kin. 
Salt. With neither. But v^hat if you were, so you vs^in ? 

Set your heart on the ears, 

And your feet on these fears ; 

Your fame shall grow younger while olden the years. 
Sus. Enough. Shall I more? Through the Devil and Hell 

I would stride to my glory. Push onward. 

Salt. 'T is well. 

You must next learn false candor. 

Sus. I avow that in that 

Round Robin 's my master. 

Salt. He needs not to be. 

You have only to hide what is lofty as he, 

And vaunt to the skies the ignoble or flat. 
Sus. I do ! I do ! 

Witness your ghosts if I do not speak true. 
Salt. But to make that appear. 

You must perch on your head with your claws in the air. 
Sus. spare ! spare ! 

Set me down, set me down ! 

All the 'blood leaves my seat to descend to my crown. 

20^- 



466 THE SCHOOL FOE CRITICS 



Set me down, or I 'm dead : 

My brain is afire, my eyes flame ; I 'm sped 1 

my soul ! 

Salt, [^righting him. * 

You are all over red. 

'T is the dawn of your triumph. 
Sus. No, the set of my pole. 

1 hope tliis is all. 

Salt. Not enough for your fame. 
The next thing to learn is the goodbye to shame. 
Sus. I have bid it already. Attest that, my Quarterly. 
Not inside alone, but without, as you ought to see, 
It is printed in full. 

Salt. Where your name is. We know it. 
But off with your breeches, and caper to show it. 
Sris. There. 

Brim, let them down tenderly, else they will tear. 
Te gods, I am bare ! 
Salt. Let us chant. 

Sus. Well, begin. 
Salt. Now, Doctor, keep time. 

Sus. And, in time, if the air 
Suit my taste, I '11 chime in. 



Salt. In puris naturalihus, 

The Doctor's dainty legs discuss 
' The lines of beauty, capering thus. 
As if he 'd pass'd at Willis'." 



ACT V. 467 

Sus. The air however 's rather cool. 
I think you make me play the fool, 
Too plump for nature's dancingschool, 
With short tendo Achillis. 

Brim. G-ive him a kick, to spin him round ; 
Char. Another, for the pair that 's found 

Of cushions waiting their rebound. 
Salt. But spring a little higher. 

Sus. I would the world could see my shame, 

Who caper thus for future fame — 
Salt As David, when he 'd won the game 

Of Jack-stones with G-oliah. 

Sus. Yet stop ! though dancing does agree 
With naked tibial dignity, 
It hardly suits my Quarterly, 
Although it saves my breeches. 

Besides, my. breath is growing short. 
Salt. And, Doctor, you have made good sport, 
A Sampson in Philistine court. 
As Judges XV. teaches. 



Sus. How well you know the sacred text ! 
Salt. It is my forte ; and Henry Beecher 
Himself might be perhaps perplex'd, 



468 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



Although a most accomplish'd preacher, 

To follow where my memory reaches, 

And think perhaps that Satan preaches. 
Sus. He often does, rude laics say. 

I have known myself a broker pray, 

And cheat his client the same day 

And bring him to the verge of starving. 

Say grace to his thanksgiving-dinner, 

( His creditor had none, mean sinner ! ) 

Then smile, as doubtless should the winner, 

The while a sumptuous sirloin carving. 

But have I done ? 

Salt. We pause, you see. 
Char. First, accept these two love spanks, 

Given, if with emotion rough, 

One on each cheek, yet tenderly. 
Sus. One for both Avere caress enough. 

Yet for the gift I render thanks. 
Char. And ought, for your hide is beastly tough. 
Sus. 'T is sitting so long at my task ev'ry quarter. 

'T would harden the beef of an alderman's daughter. 
Char. Or of Brimstone, or me. 
Siis. I have danc'd and sung, and I feel ecstatic 

From fundament to Mansard attic. 

I would there were no more to do. 

Than shake a leg with Salt and you. 

But help me now my drawers indue : 

Their want gives over much to view, 

And makes me seem erratic. 



ACT V. 469 

I only wish the dullard crew, 

Who make pretensions to review 

The poets they can scarcely read, 

Would dance like me in cuerpo once 

'T would fire the liver of each dunce, 

And, acting on his brain-pulp, serve 

To make him guess at tragic verve. 

Please hold my drawers awhile, while now 

I wipe the dewdrops from my brow 

Of wholesome perspiration. 

I do not like to swear, yet vow, 

With shirt and jacket on and coat, 

Cravatted too, but sans culotte, 

I 'm like the bird that talks by rote 

Bi-monthly in the Nation. 

Come, give the calicos. 

Salt. Not yet. 

As 't is convenient, let us set 

His titles on his naked parts. 

Laws' Doctor and great man of Arts. 
Sus. M. stands for Master, not Man, Mister. 
Char. So brand it Artium Magister. 

Bring the iron that sears. 
Sus. No, no ! by my tears ! 

Make me not a freemason — at least not for hfe ! 

If the brand should be seen I Have regard for my 

wife. 
Salt. He has suffer'd enough. 

And has prov'd the right stuff. 



470 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 

Let us give him the ears. 
/SW. joy ! 

Salt. Hold your tongue : it is greatly too long. 
Sus. And a long tongue licks up vexation. 

You forget my degrees and might have spar'd me the wrong 

Of that vocative mortification. 
Salt. Well, hush then, great Doctor, and listen the song, — 

While you, Brimstone and Charcoal, 

Stop vrith spittle each earhole, 

And rub up, nor mind the pain 

Sus. Yes, yes ; for mine the pain. 

Salt. — The rims, till they shine again, — 

The song of our Incantation. 

But first, though you have prov'd a vronder 

In bestial worth, and may defy 

Compare, yet this is to supply : 

You must tread conscience wholly under. 

Boldly dash and never blunder, 

Ere your ears will reach the sky. 
S^is. Then crown the work, nor more deny 

My honors ; nought is to be fear'd ; 

My conscience is already Sear'd. 

Save Deadhead sole and Flunky's Fledgling, 

I know not any moral ridgling 

Can sense and decency defy, 

Suppress the truth, or boldly lie. 

With such indifference as I. 
Salt. Well then, attend ; and while Coaly and Brim 

Bespittle your holes and chafe each ear-rim. 



ACT V. 471 

Make no outcry. 

INCANTATION. 

By the spirits in darkness dwelling, 
Styebak'd, half-naked, and wholly obscene ; 
By the thick oils from underground welling, 
Making naptha and kerosene ; — 

Sus. What a queer charm ! 

Salt. If you 'd not come to harm, 

You will take good care not to cross my spelling. 

By the sheet-lightning, that dazzles, not kills, 
Image of force that is only in seeming ; 
By the miasms from stagnant pools steaming, 
Filling men's vitals with fever and chills ; 

By the town-council in mud that reposes, 
Shellfish that neither are oyster nor clam. 
By their vile gutters that reek not of rcses, 
Making the taxpayers frown, spit and damn ; 

Sus. And press hard their noses. 
Salt. Will you hold? 
Stis. Having roU'd 

But just now in that clover, 

1 have study'd its botany over and over, 

And thought I might add, as a note, 'T is no sham. 

But be quick ; for my auricles are glowing ; 



472 THE SCHOOL FOB CRITICS 



And my digits can't find out at all that they, 're growing. 
Salt. Patience and list. When the charm is all sung. 

Your ears will have almost the stretch of your tongue. 

By all that is vile, or in nothingness ending, 

Borrow'd and fall of pretension vain. 

Come with your tails up, straight, corkscrew"d, and 

bending, 
Creatures that symbol his heart and his brain : 

Monkey and magotpie, paddock and frog, 
And spitting she-kitten and snarling cur-dog, 
Reremouse, and nyctalopic owl, 
Crocodile grim, and hyena fowl, — 
His arts' eido'la and types of his mind. 
Surround him, caress him; he is of your kind. 



Sus. me ! me ! I wish I was blind. 

The owl 's on my head. 

And the monkey You imp, take your paws off! 

Let go ; 

Or you '11 strangle me. Oh ! 

And that beast from the Nile, 

With his amplify'd smile. 

His yard-long mouth — scissors and chopper and file, 

Keep him back, or I 'm dead. 
Salt. fi ! fi ! 

A Doctor, and cry ? ' 



ACT Y. 473 

These spirits, though evil, 

Will give health to your navel, 

Not make you to die. 

They will teach you to mimic, — to prate without mean- 
ing. — 

To stare without seeing, — to pufF without pride, — 

To feign frozen chastity, 

"While in hot nastity 

Seeking by harsh words lust-itching to hide, — 

To growl o'er the stript bones you're savagely cleaning, — 

To tear from their graves and disfigure the dead, — 

To be daz'd with the twilight. 

Half mouse and half sparrow, 

And dash, like an arrow 

Misshot, through a skylight, — 

To croak with facility 

The tuneless un- sense of a sapless anility, — 

And give you ability 

By a shrewd crocodility 

To make shoddy seem broadcloth in all you have said. 

In fine, they will stuff, with goetic agility, 

Your brainpot with feathers and your heart's pipes with 
lead. 
Sus. The dear ugly creatures ! Each fright is a fairy. 

I feel my ears prick, my os frontis grows hairy. 

Stoney, dear Coal, 

Spit your best at each ear-hole, 

Nor of friction be chary. 

feathers and lead I 



474 THE SCHOOL FOK CRITICS 



Ah feathers and lead ! 

You were wrong, noble Salty, in what you last said : 

My head 't is grows heavy, my heart that is airy. 

0,0! 

I wish I could show 

My crown to all Hotchpot at once. Let me go. 

But the phantoms are leaving. Groodbye, my dear 
creatures. 

The valves of my heart shall shut-in your sweet features ; 

Especially yours, armor'd Earl of the Nile, 

"With your skillet-handle tail and your waffle-iron smile. 

Adieu ! adieu ! — 

Now, my rubbers, to you, 

Whose hands have the magic of Moses, 

I turn and demand, 

Is there aught in this land 

Can compare with my metamorpho'sis ? 
Char. It is all very well ; a good head of its kind. 
Sus. Grood ? 'T is complete in each elegant feature, 

And fits me like a second nature. 
Char. And there is the very fault I find : 

'T is too natural far. 

It makes you appear. 

Jaws, forepiece and ear. 

Without counting the hair, 

Like the ass that you are. 
Sus. Say, donkey : it fits not ray bifold degree 

To be nam'd, though mark'd, asinauricularly. 

But seem I the same ? 



ACT V. 476 

And if I be known by that recogniz'd name, 

Which is FledgUng's and Deadhead's 

And some other leadheads', 

I who have run the whole college curriculum, 

Why what upon earth shall cognominate me ? 
Char. Asmor'um Magis'ter, Lectorum Deridic ulum. 
8us. Why, that is my A.M. and double L. D. ! 

But here is Anicula. Now we shall see. 

Enter Anicula. 

Anic. Eh ! Bottom the weaver ! 

Kow, would I were Titania for thy sake. 

I 'd " kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy." 
Sus. Dost think I 'd hug a doxy of your make ? 

I would as soon buss Fledgling, or a boy. 

But oh thou deceiver ! [gaily to Salt. 

If one may believe her. 

Who 's as false as the Nation, 

She at least, 't would appear, 

Is fully aware 

Of my beautiful transfiguration. 

For this I adore thee. 

And could kneel down before thee, 

And aye ready to serve am. 
Anic. Sure, 't is old Sus Minervam ! 

That fools-voice reveal'd him, 

As the dim light conceal' d him. 

Pray, let me explore thee. 



4V6 THE SCHOOL FOE CEITICS 



Why, you 're perfect, I vow. 

Feels it good ? 

Sus. Bless the maker, 

'T is my soul's simulachre : 

I never had justice till now. 
A^iic. Mr. Salt, give me one. — 

But your candle burns dim. 
Salt. Ancient dame, you need none. — 

Light the gas, Mr. Brim. 
Sus. He does 't with his fingers ! Is the devil in him ? 
Salt. No, on my veracity, 

'T is his Brimstone capacity. 

He has the felicity 

To use electricity 

Like matches, for fun. 
Anic. But again for the ass-head. Why don't I need one ? 
Salt. It would make you less trim. 

And, as simple Anicula, 

In your function particular 

You give quite as droll delectation. 

By your senile garrulity 

And anile credulity 

Sus. As if you were chief of the Nation. 

But here come two witlings, to heighten my joy, — 

Though one is a monkey ; 

Polyphemus's boy 

And the turnspit of Flunky. 

I '11 play mum and enjoy their surprise. 



ACT T. 477 

Enter Deadhead and Fledgling. 

Dead. Old lady, your humble contumble. My eyes 1 

What a mask ! 

Fledg. And what size I 

I will make on 't a note for my Topics. 

We don't breed such at home. 

Whence can the beast come ? 
Dead. From Aspis, I think, in the Tropics. 

Anic', you she-monkey, 

G-et on the old donkey. 
Sus. No you don't. 

Fledg. Eh ! 't is Sus. 

Who gave him those ears ? 
Anic. Mr. Salt, it appears ; 

Or, it may be, the Devil. 
Fledg. Fi, old woman, be civil. 

Grive them, wise man, to us. 
Sus. Be off, and don't trouble him. 

They are mine, and mine only. 
Salt Fear not, I can't double them ; 

Though, your asshead's not lonely. 
Fledg. Can we make no conditions ? I feel we shall die, 

If outdone by the Doctor, Mort-Caput and I. 
Anic. What stuff! Don't I stand in my petticoat by ? 
Sus. Well protested, old dame of the Fthnos; but higher 

Than greatness soars envy, as smoke above fire. 
Salt. Notwithstanding, these witlings shall have their desire. 
Fledg. How? 



478 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



Dead. Say how ! 
Salt. By leaving your birth-marks to stand just as now ; 
Only making each feature 
Better photograph nature, 

As with the great Doctor, on jaw, nose and brow. 
Dead. Begin then, begin. 
Fledg. But is it not sin ? 

Dead. Out, sanctity ! Is n't there money to win ? 
Push on, jolly proctor, 
Make us grin Hke the Doctor, 

We '11 line you with greenbacks or plate you with tin. 
Salt. Attend then. 

Sus. Fave'te. 

Fledg. That means. Stop your din. 



Salt. Not from the spirit-world need we to summon 
Biped or quadruped, feathers or hair. 
Haunting stream, standing-pool, cockloft or common, 
From their mud, hole or perch, kennel or lair. 

Take these two newspapers, wet with men's 
water 

Anic, Of my girl's making, nevertheless. 

Salt. Mind not the ancient dame; envy has taught 
her ■ 



ACT V. 4*79 

Anic. Knowledge of earthenware, rather confess. 

Salt, Clap them upon your head, occiput, sinciput — 
Anic. But do it tenderly, else they will tear. 
Sus. They 're your own daily sheets. Mind not the stingy slut. 

Salt. Press them to mouth and nose, eyelids and hair. 

Dead. But they are devilish salt. 
Salt. That 's not the devil's fault. 
Fledg. No, 't is humanity's. 

Anic. That you may swear. 

Salt. As in the Hours' page flatness and fickleness, 
Laughable graveness and mawkish mirth meet ; 
As in the Cryer mere spluttering Avords express 
All that 's not ribald or worse in its sheet ; 

So shall these papers impress on your faces 
Types of each soul's inward birth-given shape. 
Make Deadhead a parrot, give you the grimaces, 
The solemn inaneness and mirth of an ape. 



It is done. Lift the sheet ; 
The impression 's complete. 



480 THE SCHOOL FOB CRITICS 



Dead. I am glad ; for the print 's too much stal'd to be sweet. 
Anic. Eh, the trio ! How fine ! 
Sius. But my asshead 's the best. 
Anic. And I alone left, all unchang'd! 

Sus. Don't be vex'd. 
Anic. When my virtue alone in the group 's unexpress'd ? 

I were better unsex'd. 
Salt. You need not repine : 

You attract as much note 

By your petticoat. 
Fledg. And are free of the brine. 
Dead. A parrot, a monkey, an ass and old maid. 

Let us get up a dance for our masquerade. 
Fledg. But where is the music ? 

Salt. Behold, to your aid. 
Fledg. The fiddle, the bones and the banjo already ! 

I fear that the Devil is piper. 

Salt. Not he. 
Sus. They come from the spirits. 

Salt. No matter; keep steady: 

You may have the Devil to pay, but not me. 
Sus. That is something ; I like contributions post-free. 
Fledg. But, Doctor, turn in. 

Sus. I am fagg'd. Ere you came, 

I danc'd a long Indian pas-seul for my fame. 

And toe'd it unbreech'd, proof to cold and to shame. 
Dead. Then you 've practice ; a male Taglioni. Fall in. 

Scrape up now, good catgut, and let us begin. 



ACT y. 481 

Fledg. Up and down, and in and out, 

Chassez, promenez round about. 
Dead. It is better leg-shaking, than pens, no doubt. 

Fol de rol ! 

Sus. The one is hard shuffling, the otlier mere play. 

No donkey could stand that, except for pay. 
Fledg. You mean, I suppose, for thistles or hay. 
Sus. It is one. And an ass cannot always bray 

Without pause in his vocalization. 

Dead. And a parrot must swing, as well as talk. 
Fledg. And a monkey won't always on two legs walk. 
Ante. Nor a petticoat either swap cheese for chalk, 
Who is not in a situation. 

Sus. Except 

Dead. But, Doctor, keep time ; you balk, 
Sus. — For a handsome consid-e-ration. 
Dead. Fol de rol. 

Fledg. Cross over. Ladies change. You see. 

We beat the devils in Calvary. 
Dead. That is easy ; they danc'd without fiddle-de-dee 

Fol de lol. 

Fledg. Balance. I never had so much fun, 
Except when I found an author done. 
Dead. Or the public diddled. 

A7iiG. It is all one. 
Vol. IY.— 21 



482 THE SCHOOL FOB CRITICS 



In our soi-disant critical function. 

Fledg. To cog, dissemble, misrepresent ; 

To fool the public to its bent ; 

And wink when it sees what never was meant ; 

Is interest rich ; but cent per cent 

Sus. Is our Terpsichorean junction. 

Dead. Forward two. What a jolly dance I 

Fledg. And what music I 'T would make an old donkey 

prance. 
Sus. Or a tailless monkey. 

Fledg. Its pleasures enhance, 

And with a particular zest, 

The joy I had to make Tilton cry, 

When I quoted as proof of his powers The Fly. 
Dead. Well, why did n't Sheldon your blarney buy ? 
Fledg. Or yours ? You know, as well as I, 

He may rank with New England's best.'" 

Dead. One jackass foward. Now back again. 

Now lady and ape. 

Anic. Let me hold up my train. 
Dead. Come, Be'lzebub, scrape us another strain. 

Fol de lol. 

Enter GtAlantuom, Heartandhead, 

and Atticus. 

Gal. Why, what the dense are you all about ? 



ACT V. . 483 

Sus. Do you see our heads ? 

Gal. To be sure we do. 

And your legs as well. You 're a jolly crew. 

Few editors, even the dolts of the Nation, 

Would after this fashion make saltation 

To fiddle and flute. You caper without. 
Sus. You must be stone-deaf and gravel-blind. 

Don't you see our little band ? 

'T is of the best of the fiddling kind 

To be found 'in all tlie land. 

Saltpeter has now the horsehair in hand, ^ 

And Brimstone rattles the bones, 

And little Charcoal' 

From the banjo's hole 

Is drawing those bullfrog tones. 
Gal. The devil ! the banjo has no hole. 
Heart. He must mean " the light guitar." 
Sus. No, I don't; I mean just what I say : 

The banjo's bottom is all away. 
Dead. And as Sambo says, dat 's dar. — 

No matter, strike up, 

My devils-bullpup, 

And show them what you are. 

Fledg. Up the middle and down again. 
Dead. Sweep in, broomsticks, might and main. 
Sus. Rest for muscle is rust for brain. 
Anic. Up the middle and down again. 



484 . THE SCHOOL FOB CRITICS 



Att. Why, they are all four crazy ! 

Fledg. Are we so ? 

You are, all three, fools. 
Dead. Tou are blind as new kittens, and don't seem to know 

There 's lots of pleasure in such a go. 
Sus. " Dul'ce est desip'ere in loco'." 
Anic. What is that ? 
Dead. Some Hebrew that 's pat. 

Fundamentally taught in the schools. 
Sus. But you don't mark my ears' length, you don't note my 
head, 

Those emblems of glory to be. 

Be abash'd when you learn there lurks under this shed 

The brain of Sus, double L. D. 

Behold too that green-noddled parrot, that monkey 

Which belongs to the kind that are minus a tail : 

The first one picks grubs from the Cryer man's nail, 

The other is turnspit to Weathercock Flunky. 
Heart. A parrot, a monkey, a head and long ears ! 

This is worse than the Quarterly gabble of Sears. 
Fledg. And you see not the changes ? 

Oal. We see but three men, 

Two of whom have their faces 

Smear'd with what seems the traces 

Of types, and an elderly dame, in this den. 
Sus, And you heard not the music? 

Att. We heard upon the floor 

The shuffling of your feet and your bacohanalian roar. 

As you shambled to and fro. 



ACT V. 485 

Only this. 

Dead. Says Raven Poe : 
" Only this, and nothing more." 
Bus. And you don't then see the triad ? 

Att. What triad? 

Sus. Our small band, 
With the banjo, and the beef-bones, and the fiddle-bow in 

hand. 
There they stand. 
Att. Where? 

Bus. At the wall. 

Att. I see but a petticoat ■ 

, Dead. "Hanging to dry." ^° 

Att. And an old straw bonnet by. 

And a shawl. 
Sus. Then you 're crazy, else am I. 
Att. To my thinking. 

It is wine. 
Fledg. What the Doctor has been drinking. 
With the ancient virgin here, 
Is his own affair. 
But, I say it without shrinking. 
Save our Jseer, 

Dead and I have tasted nothing 

Dead. Only brine. 
Fledg. Yet ^ve see the ass's ear, 
And behold the triad there. 
Who have, to our delectation, 
Made this triple transformation. 



486 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



That is clear. 

Qal. Here 's some juggle. 

Sus. You are crazy. 
Mr. Peter, Charcoal, Brim : 
Lift these skeptics' leaden eyes. 
In this room the air 's not hazy, 
No more burns the candle dim ; 

In the gaslight 

Dead. Even an ass might 
At your blindness show surprise. 

Salt. As I hinted once before, 

Strangers to your worth are blind ; 
And the glory of your asshood • 
With your friends alone will pass good, 
Monkies, parrots, and such kind. 
This, although 't you may deplore, — 

Dead. " Quoth the Eaven, Evermore," — 

Salt. 'T is not in our power to alter. 
Only human optics heed us 
In the sconce of fools who need us, 
Who with truth and conscience palter 
Or are like yourself in mind. 

Sus. Did you hear ? 

Gal. What? Deadhead's joke ? 

Sus. No, that other voice which spoke. 

Gal. No one else the stillness broke. 

Att. We were struck to see you staring 
At those rags for women's wearing, 
As if pondering their repairing, 



ACT T. 487 



Hanging on the dingy wall. 
Sus. Then the devil must be in it ! 

my asshead! And to win it, 

Was 't for this I stoop'd to shin it? 

Bore with kick and spank and thwack ? 

More, bore Charcoal on my back ? 

Nor that all; 

Swung like smok'd meat from the ceiling, 

Stood on end till brains were reeling, 

And, my southern pole revealing, 

Boldly let my breeches fall ? 
Dead. So the game is up ! We 're diddled. 

'T was old Be'lzebub that fiddled. 

Let 's skedaddle, great and small. 
Salt But before you scud, believe me. 

In this mummery goetic 

There was nothing to deceive ye. 

Each shall flourish still a critic, 

With the traits that here he bore. 

Tou shall be, to all who know you, 

Still a parrot, and a monkey. 

Mimicking and nothing more. 

He who turns the spit for Flunky. 

Still the ancient dame shall drape her 

In old frippery and shape her 

Worn head-gear to suit her paper ; 

While the LL.D. shall show you 

All his asshead as before. 
HeaH. How they stare ! They are surely crazy. 



488 THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 



Dead. No, we 're listening but; be aisy. 

Sus. To a prophecy, expressing 

Fledg. That our cake is not all dough. 
Salt. Take, before you leave, this blessing. 
Brim. Mine too. 

Char. Mine too, Doctor. 

Sus. Oh I 

Spare ! Have mercy ! Such a basting 

For my ham is more than wasting : 

I 've no relish for the dressing. [^Exit — manipulating. 
Gal. Good night. Doctor. 

Dead. There 's a go ! 

Take more time. With so much hasting. 

You may reach too soon below. 
Fledg. Come, old fellows, not for us 

Such rump-roasting. 

Dead. Don't stay tasting: 

Let us hasten after Sus. 
Fledg. D — n them, no ; pitch in. 

Dead. Our breeches 

'Gainst their hoofs have slim defences. 

Damn'd they are. Come, St Paul teaches 

Counter-kicking never thrives. 
Sus. [from below.] Bring down with you, lads, my beaver. - 

Take my curse, you arch deceiver I 
Sail. Why ? Your asshood aye survives. 
Att. Have these men not lost their senses ? 
Heart. Were they ever theirs, to lose them ? 
Gal. Look I you 'd think their legs had Uves. 



ACT V. 489 

Dead. Grad! we 've no choice but to use them. 
Needs must when the devil drives. 

'Exeunt hastily 

Fledgling and Deadhead, 

file former in tragic huff, and are followed 

deliberately and wonderingly by 

G-ALANTUOM, Heartandhead and Atticus. 

Saltpeter, Brimstone, and Charcoal, 

first lifting up Anioula by the petticoat, causing her to 

spraivl and kick out like a toy spider, to the great damage of her 

virginal modesty, convert the medical advertisements of the 

Hours and the Cryer into sulphuretted hydrogen 

and ascend through the ceiling by the vapor. 

Manet 
Anicula in dishabille, ^ 

with the blank expression of the Ethnos. 



21* 



NOTES 



THE SCHOOL FOE CRITICS 



1. — p. 405. — Slanghouse-Square — ] There is a place in New- 
York with a somewhat similar composite name, borrowed in like 
manner, with a ridiculous apery, from a locality in London. But in 
that case it is a triangle, a scalene of the most irregular propor- 
tions, arid indeed amorphous, the two longest sides not meeting at 
all, although they converge. However, a figure of three angles for 
a parallelogTam is as near as the journal which originated the 
euphonious designation can be expected to come to correctness. 

2. — P. 405. — in rogioes abounding, Who draw from the public 
pot their fare And openly, etc.] This is so like the kind of men 
which Mr. Parton gave to pubhc admiration in the N. American 
Review, that, were it not for the name of the city, one might suppose 
they sat for the outline in New York. But as no individual is 
whatever his pre-eminence, absolutely singular, so it may be thaf 
every corporation has, however monstrous its rascality, somewhere 
its congeners. 

3. — P. 406. That is why, one day, To get appointed, etc.] This 



492 NOTES TO 



is one of the bad features of our popular government, the nomina- 
tion to high office of members of the Press. Supposing they were 
equally well-qualified as certain otliers, — which is taking a very 
great deal on assumption, — yet the office serves as a bribe, and the 
influence of a widely circulating newspaper is cheaply bought at 
any price by the candidate for election or re-election to the Presi- 
dency. The corruption thus produced on both sides, in the relation 
of cause and efleet, needs not to be demonstrated. 

4. — P. 408. A7id stirring uj) rubbish he cry^d, " Oh fine ! "] It was 
not to be expected that any professional critic would presume to 
attack an author of established reputation, far less that those who 
know nothing of literary criticism but its pretension should be able 
to discriminate between the false and the true ; but that such an ex- 
hibition of absurdity should be made in any jouruul of standing as is 
paraded, with full trumpet-accompanLmeut, in the following passage 
oftheiV. Y. Times of M.ay 18, 1867, would be incredible except to 
those familiar with its sycophancy in letters, or who know by expe- 
rience its ignorance therein and absolute indifference to principle. 

" Sometimes too, it would seem that Mr. Longfellow's exceeding familiarity 
with the Italian, and his unswerving attention to its literal signification leads 
[lead] him into obscurity. An instance of this may be found in the sixth line 
of canto XXIV. which Mr. Longfellow renders — 

' But little lasts the temper of her pen.' 

The word pen here is precisely the same as the original penna^ but the reader 
who knows nothing of Dante would be in doubt as to the meaning of the line. 
So in line thirty-six of the same canto : 

' He I know not, but I had been dead beat.' 

The last half of this line has never been equaled by any former translator." 

I should think not. It is a ''dead beat" altogether. Had I, or 
Cluvienus, used such slang — on any occasion whatever I And for 
so ordinary a phrase : 

" Non so di lui ; ma io sarei ben vinto." 



THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 493 



The fact is, if tKe specimens given in ths Times and in the Tribune 
are fair examples of Mr. Longfellow's work, it will show that his 
capacity as a poet is, in every respect, far below what even his most 
moderate admirers have allowed him. Mr. L., it may be supposed, 
considered, that, as Dante himself frequently uses coarse and even 
grotesque phrases, he was but imitating the Dantescan spirit when 
he introduced this vulgarism and slang of the turf or chase. If so, 
he transcended his part, which was to follow, not to lead, and not 
to Ubel his original by adding to his crudities. But these news- 
paper critics ! * 



* The Times goes on to cite what it calls an " incomparable picture : " 
" Quivi sospirl, pianti ed alti guai 
Risonavan per I'aer senza ateUe, 
Perch' io al cominciar ne lagrimai. 
Diverse Ungue, orribili favelle, 
Parole di dolore, accent! d'ira, 
Voci alte e fioche, e suon di man con elle, 
Facevano nn tumulto U qual s'aggira 
Sempre 'n quell' aria senza tempo tinta., 
• Come la rena quando '1 turbo spira." (7re/. III.) 

Of this it gives seven translations. The best of these is, as might be sujDposed, 
the German ; but "of all the English versions," it tells us, — in the face of Mr. 
Wright's and Dr. Parsons', — "Mr. Longfellow's is unquestionably both the most 
literal and the most poetic.''\ . . Let us "have it, including the two extraordinary 
lines here italicized : 

" There sighs, complaints and ululations loud 

Resounded through the air without a star. 
Whence I, at the beginning, wept thereat. 
Languages diverse, horrible dialects, 
Accents of anger, loords of agony 
And voices high and hoarse, wit'a sound of hands, 
Made up a tumult that goes whirling on 
Forever in that air forever black 

Even as the sand doth when the whirlwind breathes." 
I knew beforehand, judging from such as I have redd of Mr. Longfellow's 
poems, and redd ( the smaller ones ) with unqualified admiration, that their author 
wa.? by the very character of his mind inadequate to a version of the stem and 
masculine Florentine, but I never could have dreamed that he would have the 
foUy to attempt, in these days, to render him without the rhjTne which is so es- 



494 NOTES TO 



5. — P. 410. Amen I as said on his knees Jeff Davis, etc.] Godli- 
ness was a characteristic trait of this eminent personage, — eminent, 
I mean, in virtues. A lady of Richmond was much edified by seeing 

sential to a true imitation. But my greatest surprise has been at the translator's 
blank verse. His extraordinary use of unaccented syllables, where, at the close 
of a line, an accented one is required (whether that be the final syllable itself, or 
with other syllables after it redundant), shows a singular want of comprehension 
of true rythm and a defect of ear that I can scarcely now account for, although it 
is not an uncommon occurrence where poets used to rhyme attempt to do mthont 
it. In fine, his version (if it may be estimated by the samples given by his eulo- 
gists) is not even respectable, and, from a man of his taste, is, in a bad sense, sur- 
prising. Yet in the passage above quoted, which the newspaper-man, \rith. 
affected transport, calls " superb ", telling us that Us marvelous words thrill over 
every nerve of the render '. (^) there is nothing difficult at all, either of compre- 
hension or of rendering. 

Having, in Arthur Carryl, given a translation of certain scraps there cited of 
Dante, and given them, according to my constant custom, in the measure of the 
original, and with corresponding or equivalent rhymes, years before Mr. L. at- 
tempted his version, I hope I have some right to put forward my own rendering 
of the place, not to show how well it may be done, but to show that it may be done, 
and easUy too, better than he has done it. These are the lines, written after run- 
ning over the absurd and pedantic panegyric I have, for my readers' sake as wejl 
as for my own, held up to ridicule, and the contempt which befits at all times the 
hypocrisy of literary diUetanteism. 

There sighs, laments, and hoivlings of deep wo, 
Resounded through that air without a star. 
Wherefore, at first, my tears could not butfloic. 

Tongues of all lands, and horrible words that jar. 
Phrases of suffering, wrath'' s discordant sound, 
Shrielcs and chok''d cries, ami smitten hands, that far 

And near made tumult^ to and fro rebound. 
Forever in that air''s unchanging gloom, 
Like to the sand which eddyi7ig winds whirl round. 
I do not aver that this exactitude of imitation could be carried out (even with 



\i) There is nothing whatever 


" marvelmis " in either words or verse, although there Is much that Is ad- 


mirable in both. This ia the pit 


iful caat ofwoald-bo connoisseu's, who before any work of art, from letters 


lu music, aflfect a rapture propo: 


rtioneJ to its celebrity, and endeavor, by guessing at the value of certain 


points, or by assuming it withou 
translation, it la obvious to any 


It guessing, to acquire the reputation of literary acumen. Xs for Mr. L.'e 
unbiased reader, and certainly to one who has true knowledge of the subject 


Mid of verse in general, that tlin 


in I'i tlie lines are the merest prose, while it is a deBecration of the song of 


the Tuscan to render his accarat 


,e rythm by the absolutely unmetrical line which ta the middle aa weQ u 


worst of these three : 


" Languages diverie, horribU dialects.** 



THE SCHOOL FOK CRITICS 495 



him, through his open window, on his Presidential knees, and took 
care to advertise it to the pubUc. To shub himself in his closet and 
pray in secret, according to the precept of Christ, would have been 
putting his rushlight under a bushel and have deprived the God- 
devoted of the profit of ibs lustre. "What a sacriflcs even of modesty 
wiU men not make, when exalted above self by the vapor of an ebul- 
lient patriotism 1 

It was perhaps for his sanctity bhat this intended martyr, who had 
had the self-denial to run from destiny in his wife's petticoat, was 
recently cheered on 'Change in Liverpool. It was certainly not be- 
cause he recommended his State to dishonor its own bonds, nor 
because he endorsed for consideration the proposition to murder Lin- 
coln, nor that he claimed to make the cornerstone of his temple of hu- 
man rights the absolute negation of human liberty, that our cousins 
of England forgot they had just found out how much they loved us. 

* 6. — P. 414. No, none of us are so squeamous.'\ Tt is probably, not 
from habitual vulgarity, but from love of antiquity and his familiarity 
with old English writers, that the Cryer^s man uses this, now un- 
justly considered barbarous and corrupt, form of the word " squea- 
mish." "Webster, whom I have so often occasion to find fault with, 
has absurdly the hypothesis, " Probably from the root of wamble.^' 
Chaucer wrote squaimous ; and his erudite editor teUs us : " Robert 
of Brunne (in his translation of Manuel des PecMes, Ms. Bod. 2078. 
fol. 46.) wiites this word, esquamwus ; which is nearer to its original, 
exquamiare, a corruption of excamhiare." Ttewhitt : Gloss. Chauc. 
ad V. In Eich. Coir de L. (ed. Weber,) it is written squoymous : 
"Frendes, be not squoymous, etc.," when the Saracens have the 
heads of their friends placed in the dishes before them. This is pre- 
cisely, in its signification, the modern squeamish. 

single rhyme as here) through the whole of the Commedia, but I am positive that 
without such imitation, though one may give the measure of the poet, he cannot 
render his tone, which is to his stanzas what the coloring is to a fine painting iu 
which that quality is prominent. 



496 NOTES TO 



7. — P. 420. You have lost, sir and ma^am, each the nice speciality, 
etc.] Fledgling is, like most imperfectly educated persons who are 
literary pretenders, not always to be held responsible for verbal in- 
novations ; but, in the present instance, he is not so far out of the 
way, this form of the substantive — speciality for specialty — though 
not used, being in perfect analogy with that of the words it rhymes 
with in the text. Besides, it is corrector etymologically, the term 
having come in to us from the French, specialite, used in the same 
sense. 

P.S. Since the note was written, I have found the word in the 
form ' speciality ' in a philosophical treatise of the present day ; in 
Dr. David Page's Essay on " Man," p. 153, N". T. ed. 1868, — unless 
it is there a misprint. 

8. — P. 422. What a phrase is that!'] See above, note 4. 

For the allusion to Fernando, there is in a cognate Review ofc 
similar pretensions to those of Dr. Sus's, a passage which will per- 
haps explain it. As a few yesirs hence men might grope in vain for 
its fossilized existence, I shall go to the expense of printing the 
article entire, and with all its curiosities of word, syllable and point, 
as I find them on pp. 415-417 of the XlVth vol. of The National 
Quarterly Revieiv, Edited by Edioard I. Sears, A.M., LL.D. — The 
footnotes are made to supply what the Doctor in his " friendly and 
benevolent spirit " constrained himself to suppress. 



Tirgmina. Tragedies. By Laughton Osborx. 12mo., pp. 200. 
New York: Doolady. 1857. 
" In general Mr. Doolady exhibits considerable judgment in his selections; it 
is but seldom that we have had any serious fault to find with his publications. 
Nor does the one now before ua form an exception ; although we do not think 
that Laughton Osborn will ever occupy a high rank among tragic writers. He 
may succeed in other departments of literature, but we can assure him in all 
kindness that tragedy is not his forte ; nor is poetry in any form. After making 
hill allowance for the disadvantage under which he has labored in treating the 



THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 497 



subjects lie has chosen, we see nothing to justify us in the opinion tliat he would 
have succeeded under more favorable circumstances. 

"The incidents which he has attempted to dramatise in 'Calvary' are at once 
too familiar and too mysterious. Even Milton has failed in his ' Paradise Re- 
gained.' The life and death of Christ are so fully detailed in the New Testament 
that it would require a genius of a high order to invest the subject with that air 
of novelty which is essential to the drama. This is admirably illustrated in the 
Divina Commedia of Dante, although not a drama in the strict sense of the 
term. There is no intelligent person who has read that truly subUme poem who 
has not observed a vast difference between the Purgatorio and the Paradiso ; 
but a still greater difference between the Inferno and the Paradiiso, the latter 
beuig greatly inferior to either of the former. 

" The reason is obvious enough ; while neither sacred nor profane history has 
much to say on what passes in purgatory or hell, each is quite copious on what 
relates to paradise considered as the happiness derived by man from the death 
of Christ. 

" If however, it be urged that paradise is not familiar, being extra terram, the 
same claim cannot be made for Calvary. That the events which took place at 
Calvary were in the highest degree tragic is beyond dispute ; but, as already 
observed, all the incidents and circumstances that led to it are so fully described 
that but little room is left for the exercise of the fancy. Were it otherwise, we 
think there would stiU be some objectiou to the exhibition of Jesus, the Arch- 
angels, Mary, the mother of Jesus, Mary Magdalene Simon Peter, &c., on the 
stage, at least in the style in which it is done in Laughton Osbom's ' Calvary.' * 

"Milton was content to commence his Paradise Lost with what took place on 
our own sphere — 'man's first disobedience,' &c. Homer soared no higher at the 
outset than the wrath of Achilles. Nor has Virgil attempted a different course. 
But our present author lays his first scene in heaven, and his first speakers are 
Raphael and Michael, who have a chorus of angels, though, in sooth, rather a 
discordant one. In Scene III. Jesus, Mary and Martha appear, the locus being 
'A room in the dwelling of Jesus' Mother.' If the dialogue which takes place 
between the Saviour of manlrind and his Mother had been intended for a 
burlesque it could hardly have seemed to us more profane. But we cheerfully 
do the author the justice to believe that he means weU throughout. Mary 
addresses Josus, ' my darling ! ' and tells him that what He says is to happen 

* If the reader should think it incredible that tlie fool, who wrote this stuff, 
actually supposed that a drama like Calvary (even if such was the author's in- 
tention) could, with its angels and devils, its scenes in Heaven and in Hell, and 
the act of the crucifixion, be put upon the sfcage, in any style, I can only teU him 
that I copy Uterally, and I did not make the fellow's brains. 



498 NOTES TO 



makes lier 'blood curdle'.* In another part of the same dialogue she is made 
to say: 

' I am thy mother, Jesus, and my heart 
Warms to thee now as when I first beheld thee 
After my weary travaO,' &c. — (p. 9.) t 

" When Martha enters Mary appeals to her, as if she had more influence on 
Jesus than herself, thus : 

' Kneel with me, Martha ! He has love for thee. 
TeU him he Mils me ! TeU him 1 'J 

"The first scene of the second act is laid in heU, and the interlocutors are 
Lucifer and Beelzebub, who have a chorus of evil spirits which differs very 
slightly, if anything, from the chorus of angels, except that the former is, per- 
haps, a little more lugubrious than the latter. Next come Judas Iscariot and 
Mary Magdalene. Judas speaks quite idiomatically. ' Ugh ! ' he says, ' and the 



* Mary. And canst thou speak with calmness, when my heart 
Is achliig for thee ? Jesus, my son ! 
Think on thy mother, and avoid the storm 
That now is darkening o'er thee, and whose shadow 
Makes my blood curdle with the chUl of death. 
For my sake, O my darUng 1 

t Mary. Stay yet a little. By that happy time 

Thou hast thyself remember' d, when these breasts 

That now are witherd fed thee from my blood, 

I do adjure thee 1 Thou hast call'd me Mother 

With that sweet voice, although again the tone 

That is so stem and lofty, when thou speak'st 

Those riddles that I dare not try to solve. 

Has aw'd and check'd me, — thou hast caU'd me Mother. 

I am thy mother, Jesus, and my heart 

Warms to thee now as when I first beheld thee 

After my weary travail ; see me now 

Embrace thy feet, and pray thee as my god. 

For my sake, for thy own ! 

X Jesus. Thou hast spoken, Martha, loyally and well. 
But, in tliat faith and wisdom, seest thou not 
Tliat I should need no wammg ? Even now 
The heart that shall betray me is convuls'd 
With its distracting passions, and the hand 
Is itching for the silver that shall buy 
My body for the cross. It is decreed. 
Mary. Mean'st thou this fully ? Canst thou still so calmly 

Speak what to credit is Mj' son ! my son 1 

I&ieel \\-ith me, Martha ! He has love for thee. 

TeU him he kills me ! Tell him ! Jesus, son I 

Have mercy on me I Save thyaeU — and me ! 



THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 499 



lamp looks dying.' She replies: ' Be not displeas'd, dear Judas.' (p. 15.) Fur 
ther on in the same dialogue she addresses him : 

' That starv'd look worries me ; and, oh 1 the chill 
Of this unwholesome lodging 1 ' — (p. 15.) * 

"We have not yet got beyond the second act; and the tragedy extends 
to five acts, occupying seventy-four pages. Under these circumstances we 
think our readers will excuse us if we caimot proceed any farther in this direc- 
tion. 

" Virginina is a better effort than 'Calvary', but we are very much afraid that 
it will not succeed as a tragedy. The Romans, male and female, are made to ex- 
press themselves considerably more like New Yorkers than is in strict accordance 
with the truth of history. The following is a pretty favorable specimen : 

Icil. — ' I am IcDius, and should the people 

The sole legitimate source of sovereign rule. 
For that they are the many, and their thews 
Strain to heave up, to prop and keep sustain'd 
The edifice whose chambers ye but fiU.' — • (p. 103.) 

" Fernando Wood could hardly have expressed himself more democratically or 



* Judas. The night is chilly. Hast thou not a coal 
To feed the brazier ? Not one drop of wine ? 
TJgh ! and the lamp looks dying. Where is gone 
The shekel that I gave thee yesternight ? 
Magd. Be not displeas'd, dear Judas. I bestow'd it 
But as the Master seem'd to say we ought : 
I cast it in the Treasury. 

Judas. Like that widow 
Whose paltry mites he made of more accoimt 
Than all the rest, because they were her aU. 
So thou must give thy aU ! Of many fools 
Of Magdala, thou, Mary, art the best. 
Why not have gone at once to the perfumer's. 
Like thy Bethanian namesake, and anoint 
His yellow locks, or even smear his feet, 
As I have seen thee sweep them oftentimes 
With these long delicate hairs ( I could defile them ! ) 
He would have thought still more of it. 

Magd. For shame ! 
Thou speakest of our Lord, the Christ, our King. 
Judas. I know not that : I know that I am weary 
Of waiting for his kingdom, which I thought 
Would TBake us rich at least, — both thee and me. 
That starv'd look worries me : and oh, the chill 
Of this unwholesome lodging ! With that shekel 
Thou might'st have bought us fire and light and food. 



500 NOTES TO 



more patriotically than this when a candidate for Governor of the State.* We 
cheerfully admit, however, that there are some good passages in Virginina, but we 
hope we shall be excused if we prefer to let the reader discover them for himself. 
"Before we conclude we beg to give the author one word of advice, which we 
trust he ^viIl accept in the same friendly, -benevolent spirit in which it is offered. 
He annoimces to us on one of the fly-leaves of this volume that the two pieces wo 
have just glanced at 'are the first of a series of nineteen, which, with the excep- 
tion of two, are now completed and ready for the press.' This is followed by tho 
titles of ten tragedies and seven comedies ! We have no doubt that Mr. Osbom is 
as much at home in comedy as he is in tragedy ; nay, we think he is more success- 
ful in exciting laughter even when he does not mean to do so, than he is in draw- 
ing forth tears when most tragically inclined. At the same time, we would advise 
him to withhold his ' Silver Head ' and ' Double Deceit ' (comedies) until thepeo- 



* Icil. I am IcUius, and I hold the people 

The sole legitimate source of sovereign rule, 

For that they are the many, and their thews 

Strain to heave up, to prop and keep sustainM, 

The edifice whose chambers ye but fill. 

Were Appius not your master as our tjTant, 

My hate to your cruel order were not less. 

And, the decemvirate overthrown, Icilius 

Steps on its carcase, to do battle still 

For freedom and the people's rights. Thou hearest : — 

These are my motives. What are thine 1 

Lncr. I am , 

Lucretius, and the common folk of Rome 
I have in hatred less than in disdain. 
But is there eye so bleard that sees not Appius 
Striding to sovereign rule across our necks ? 
He cring'd to the people, and they set him o'er them. 
He trod them down. He cringes now to us. 
And Rome beholds the guardians of her state 
Become mere servitors to tlie usurping Ten, 
WTiose plural tyranny even now is merging 
Into the singular rule of this bold man. 
I love my order, and will let no Tarquin 
Level its pillars to rear himself a throne. 
These are my motives. 

Icil. And they please me little ; 
As does thy purpled tunic, which they suit. 
But thou dost much ; for thou 'rt a man ; thy tongue 
Fears not to utter what thy soul dares think. 

Thus, the language of Icilius, which is conniderably more like tliat of a Kew- 
Torker than Id xtrictly accordant loith the truth of history, is addressed to one of 
the proudest of the patricians, and not, as the truthful reviewer would advise us, 
to the class of people Fernando Wood harangues tKhen a candidate for the State 
Governorship. The misrepresentation however is not greater than that in every 
other part of the "notice," beginning with " Virginina^'' ; but it is probably less 
intentional, as being the result of stupidity as weU as of envy and malevolenco. 



THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 501 



pie are much more predisposed to laughter than they are at present, and have 
more time and money to spare." 

And sucli is the critical record of such a poem as Yirginia ! "What 
will the men of the future think of our standing as a cultivated 
people, and of the literary judgment and the fair-dealing of our 
critics, when they are told that this flippant, pedantic, ill-digested 
and badly-written school- exercise, with its low-bred impertinence, 
its thinly-vailed and hypocritical malignity, and its brazen-faced 
falsehood, is the sole notice that has been taken of that tragedy in 
aU the number of our Quarterly Reviews ? 

9. — P. 423. Which in all countries, as late I said, etc., etc.] I 
fear I have been led into plagiarism ; for these identical phrases oc- 
cur in a work of prodigiously high standing. 

"It is almost superfluous to remark," says the author of a review 
of Aljieri's Life and Writings, in the XlVth vol. K T. Nat. Rev. p. 
216, "that Ahieri was not entitled to the degree of Master to which 
he thus refers ; but degrees have been conferred in all countries and 
ages in which there are colleges and universities under similar cir- 
cumstances ; they are conferred at the present day." 

It is true, there is scarcely anything but misrepresentation in the 
whole article, and its literary judgments are only a little worse than 
its travesty of Alfieri's Italian ; but, for the remark about the man- 
ner in which degrees are given, we, looking on the cover of the 
journal, where we read A.M., write " Approved." 

10. — P. 423. In Eeidelberg A British noUe got LL.D. 

Conferr'd on his horse.l I had this story on the Neckar, from an 
Oxford student on his vacation tour. He gave it as an illustration 
of the freedom with which the German University dispensed its 
favors. The nobleman handed-in the name of his Bucephalus, and 
nothing further was asked. 



502 NOTES TO 



11. — P. 423. A lettered ass — '^haud absurdum est." 'Tis facero 
well re'ipubUcce.'] By a strange coincidence, there is a motto on one 
of our Reviews, " Pulchrum est bene facere reipublicae, etiam bene 
dicere baud absurdum est." Some may think it should read male- 
dicere. As Sus says in the text, the words serve to keep his brain- 
pan soft ; aud they may be as efBcacious in a title-page. 

12. — P. 428. Becau-te Alger in Ms SoHtude, efc.] 

" 'The penalty,' says the author, 'affixed to supremely equipped souls is that 
they must often be left alone on the cloudy eminence of their greatness, amid the 
lightnings, the stars, and the canopy, commanding the sovereign prospects indeed, 
but sighing for the warm breath of the vale, and the friendly embraces of men.' 
. . To come down from the canopy, we should be very glad to know what aU this 
sighing and gnashing of teeth is about. * * 133-ron without liis mask was a very 
ordinary sort of person. * * It is indisputable that he liked women ["Grodhelp 
the wicked I "], especially if they were the wives of other men, and the poor 
heart-broken poet saw a chance to destroy the happiness and lilacken the good 
fame of a quiet household [!]. He pretended to cling to an early attachment, but 
if he had married the young lady [which ?] it is more than probable that he would 
have treated her as badly, as wickedly, as brutaUy as he actually treated the lady 
whose life was cursed by her union with him. The real extent of the baseness of 
his conduct toward Lady Byron will never be known now, but the one or two who 
did know of it [know it] declare that it was monstrous beyond conception [!!]. 
It was no woman's jealousy or pique which darkened poor Lady Byron's days. 
Those who remember the hints thrown out in a narrative of her Ufe which ap- 
peared a few years ago in the London Daili/ News [therefore perfectly reliable] 
will not need to be informed that the melancholy poet was capable of the vilest 
acts. He had many less culpable faults [than these "vilest acts" presumed fi-om 
"hints"]. He liked pleasure [naughty fellow !]. He drank, he gambled, he was 
consumed with vanity [and drank to cool himself], he had intrigues with men's 
[not boys'] wives and boasted of them, he turned round and abused his dupes in 
his poetry for being false to their husbands [eh ?], he lied habitually, and he was 
mean and cunning [all of which propensities, acts, and habits, form what are so 
curiously called lens culpable faults]." N. Y. Times, Thursday, May 2, 1867. 

Alger did indeed talk like a fool, if his stylo is as above quoted; 
but this is to grunt and growl like a beast. 



THE SCHOOL FOR CEITICS 603 



13. — P. 428. And Emerson's verse without rhyming close, And a 
devilish deal less toii^h.'\ 

" The longest poem in the present collection is entitled ' May-Day ' It 

'breathes throughout the freshness and the beauty of Spring, and overfloioa with 
poetic thought and imaginative sympathy with the breaking of tlie ' marble sleep ' 
of Winter. [Good lack-a-day 1 where is Alger ?] ... What a- graphic piece of 
description is this : 

Lo ! how all the tribes combine 

To rout the flying foe. 

See, every patriot oak-leaf throws 

His elfin length upon the snows ; 

Not idle, since the leaf ah day 

Draws to the spot the solar ray. 

Ere sunset quarrying inches down, 

And half-way to the mosses brown : 

While the grass beneath the rime 

Has hints of the propitious time, 

Aiid upward pries and perforates 

Through the cold slab a thousand gates. 

Till green lances peering through 

Bend happy in the welkin blue." N. Y. Times, May 1, 1867. 

The grass having hints, and prying and perforating in a slab athoit- 
sand gates, and lances peering and bending happy, ia so good that 
we will cut off this quotation here. Then : 

" The northward procession of the Spring is thus vividly described : 
I saw the bud-crowned Spring go forth. 
Stepping daily onward north 
To greet staid ancient cavaliers 
Piling single in stately train. 
And who, and who are the travelers ! 
They were Night and Day, and Day and Night, 
PUgrims wight with step forthright. 
I saw the Days deformed and low. 
Short and bent by cold and snow ; 
The merry Spring threw wreaths on them, 
[Which was a mauvaise plaisanterie, as they were already snow-bowed] 
Flower-wreaths gay with bud and bell ; 
Many a flower and many a gem. 
They loere refreshed by the smell. 
They shook the snow from hats and shoon, 
They put their April raiment on ; 
And those eternal f onus [ "deformed and low"l 



504 NOTES TO 



Unhtirt by a thousand utorms 
[ Yet bent by the weight of snow ] 

Shot up to the height of the sky again. 
And danced as merrily as young men." 

Fancy them, tliese _p%rt??is wight with step forthright, shooting up 
to the height of the sky, then dancing aivay right merrily : The image 
is of Louginistic sublimity, and one is tempted to ask with the big- 
worded Grecian, Where the devil did they find the space? But let us 
continue : it is such a treat to have a pretentious and affected phi- 
losopher writing — well, such verses as a child should be spanked for. 

" I saw them mask their awful glance 

Sidewise jneek in gossamer lids ; 

And to speak my thought if none forbids, 

It was as if the eternal gods, 

Tired of their starry periods, [ ace. iJO'totis' ] 

Hid their majesty in cloth 

Woven of tulips and painted moth. 

On carpets green the maskers marc'i 

Below May's weU-appointed arch, 

Each star, each god, each grace ariain, 
[aU made out of the pilgrims icigtu, who, vailiig their awful glance's light, 
tiidetcise meek, if no seaRe forbids, in gossamer lid--, maskers grow in a Joseph's 
cloth Woven of tulips and painted moth. -:-By the by, as moths do not corae out 
in April, with paint or without, nor the tulips either I believe, wliere did 
the cavulier-trareler-Days deformed get their wardrobe Unhurt by a Ihoiisand 
utorms for theh- eternal sky high forms ? ] 

Every joy and virtue speed, [?] 

Marching duly in her train, 

AjiA fainting Nature at her need 

Is made whole again." 
Lit 's a wonder she was not driven stark-mad.] 

And the fool or sycophant praises this stuff of Emerson's, who, 
besides having his head half-way up in a Swinburne fog, and being 
almost as incapable of rythm as "Walt Whitman, has no adequate 
conception of what is rhyme I 

" We give space to one extract more, the closing passage of the poem. 
For thou, Spring ! canst renovate 
All that high God did first create. 



THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 505 



Be still his arm and architect, 

Eebuild the ruin, mend delect ; 

Chemist to vamp old woi'lds with new, 

Coat sea and sky with heavenlier blue, 

New-tint the plumage of the birds, 

And slough decay from grazing herds, etc." 



We shall follow no further. The image of the chemist turned cob- 
bler and vamping old worlds with new, though he does not tell how 
the feat is done, which were a considerable one even were it old 
shoes with new,, and the sloughing of decay from cattle while grazing 
( an excellent thing in the present panic of the meat-market,) make 
too delectable an ending for us to mar it by addition. 

14. — P. 428. As pompous an ass as Victor Hugo, Who, etc., 
etc.] One of the best-marked personal tvaitp, of this greatly over- 
rated poet and romancer, is conspicuous in the following note taken 
from the K T. Times of July 30, ISe?. 

"Letter from Victor Hugo on John Brown. 
From, la Cooperation. 
The editor of this journal, having opened a subscription with a view to offering 
a medal to John Brown's widow, received the subjoined letter from VICTOR 

Hugo: 

Hauteville House, July 3, 1867. 
Sir : My name belongs to all who would make use of It to serve progress and 
truth. 

A medal to Lincoln caUs for a medal to John Brown. Let us cancel that 
debt pending such time as America shall cancel hers. America owes JOHN 
Brown a statue as tall- as that of Washington. Washington 'founded' 
America, John Brown diEEused liberty. 
I press your hand. 

VICTOE, HUGO." 

Here we see lack of judgment in the exaltation of a simple 

fanatic, relieved, but not concealed, by a pomposity and affectation 

that are really ludicrous. Much of what M. Hugo writes in epistles 

to the public is of this character : ( witness his appeal for Maxi- 

VoL. IV.— 22 



506 NOTES TO 



milian to Juarez.*) He seems to think himself not only the primi- 
tive and particular apostle of liberty, but the foremost man on all 
occasions, and whose sentiments on any public question are of 
value, vs^hether he is conversant with it or not. Yet it is this affec- 
tation, which would degrade even ordinary talent, and reminds us 
of the stage-slrut and mouthing of secondrate tragedy-actors, that 
is taken, by such asses as Fledgling, (though in the text he is not 
made to bray ) as a proper indication of genius. For example : 



"The recent correspondence between Victor Hugo and the young poets of 
France .... is one of the most graceful and eloquent passages in modem literac 
ture. * * * To their expressions of ' boundless admiration ' the old poet replied 
with a delicacy of compliment, a brilliancy of eloquence, a tenderness of feeling 
which showed how well they had called him 'master', and how simply and [yet] 
boldly true were their epithets. 'Dear poets, the hterary revolution of 1830, 
corollary and conseqtience of the revolution of 1789 [!], is a fact which belongs to 
our age. I am the humble soldier of this progress. I fight for revolution uuder 
all its forms — under the Uterary form as under the social form. I have liberty for 
principle, progress for law, the ideal for type.' Our epoch is ' a profound epoch, 
against which no reaction is possible. Grand art forms a part in this grand age. 
It is its soul. * * We, the old — we have had the combat ; you, the young — 
you will have the triumph.' Then, in a characteristic generalization, Victor Hugo 
declares that 'the spirit ofthe\^th ce^iZi^ry combines the demoCTYjCScsearcA /or the 
True, with the eternal law of the Beautiful', and it directs 'everything toward 
this sovereign end, liberty in intelligence, the ideal in art. Literature ought to 
be at 01UX democratic and ideal : democratic for civilization, ideal for the souV " 
(m r. Times.) 

All of which is as pellucid as plumcake, while at the same time it 
is as void of inflation as soap-bubbles. 

" In a fine closing sentence," pursues the newspaper youth, "he tells the yomig 
poets, ' I am proud to see my name surrounded by yours. Your names are a 
garland of stars'" [of the smallest microscopic magnitude.] 



* And more recently his vehement objui'gation of those who chose to sentence 
and to execute a negro girl of twelve years, who had committed a murder in 
Kentucky. The newspapers make him eject froth after this fashion: "Was 
there not manhood left in Kentucky to tear out the tongues of the fiends who 
pronounced judgment on that girl, and break the arms of those who were base 
enough to carry out such a sentence ? " Yet M. Hugo has long ceased to be a 
schoolboy. 



THE SCHOOL FOK CEITICS 507 



Perhaps he wrote galaxy. But it does not matter. Either way, 
simple or confused, the metaphor is felicitous. If they are the stars, 
he of course must be the centre of the system; and that he could 
assert them to be such, and proclaim his own pride to be so gar- 
landed, galaxied, or satellited, is especially iUustrative of the ^^demo- 
cratic search for the True^'' — which no one will henceforth doubt has 
been found by M. Hugo. 

15. — P. 435. Act the Third.] In this Scene, if I shaU seem to 
praise myself, it wiU be because I copy, as closely as the occasion 
and the verse will permit, the sentiments expressed by two of the 
characters in their literary function, and the facts as detailed to one 
of my brothers by the third. 

In taking the Hberty I have done in introducing these gentlemen 
into my piece, I have been guided more by a sense of gratitude 
than by any other motive. I have so httle to be grateful for in all 
my literary career to my fellows, that I may be allowed to indulge 
the feeling at the expense of an appearance of egotism, as I certainly 
have doAe it to the detriment of my drama. 

Begging then pardon of each one, I may say to him safely, if I 
know myself: 

" In freta dmn fluvii current, 

polus dum sidera pascet, 

Semper honos, nomenque tuum, laudeaque manebunt, 
Quae me cumque vocant terrae," 

16. — P. 439. Because intent To keep from the light Ms false a/rgu- 
ment.'] 

Who shames a scribbler ? break one cobweb through. 

He spins the slight, self-pleasing thread anew : 

Destroy his fib, or sophistry, in vain. 

The creature 's at his dirty work again. Pope. I'rol. to Sat. 

Just as this 3d Act was passing through the hands of the com- 



508 NOTES TO 



positor, I learned that the Round Table had, with inconceivable 
effrontery — no, it was the Round Table — had, with characteristic 
effrontery, dared to talk thus of Bianca — of Bianca Capello, which 
I have placed next to Virginia in the collective volume of dramas, — 
Bianca, which, however faulty, is full of incident, action and passion, 
and conspicuous for stage-effect, but whose "plot" is its weakest 
point, and whose " language and ideas " this sciolist, who cannot 
write grammatically and has no sentiment but for the commonplace 
and routine of his trade, condemns by commendation. The empha- 
sizing by capitals and italics is my own. 

" There is the same tiresome prolixity of dialofftie, the same peculiar wood- 
ENNESS IN THE PERSONAGES of the drama, the same FRIGIDITY OF IMAGINA- 
TION we before remarked as characteristic of the author, but also, it is fair to 
add [delightful candor !], a symmetry of plot and, in the main, a correctness of 
language and ideas which are his chief virtues. The play is founded on an epi- 
sode in the romantic history of Bianca CapeUo, who, etc." [It happens to be her 
entire history. Did he really know what is an " episode ? "] " She died in 1587, 
at Poggio [Did she ? It would be as correct to say. The ducal palace was at 
Pitti. She died in the ViUa del Poggio at Caiano, as he was taught in the drama, 
as well as in the "Appendices" from which alone the dunce has borrowed all his 
information] within afeio minutes of her husband, [that is the play, not history, 
which the ignorant is affecting to talk after. The briefest interval assigned by 
historians is fifteen hours'] both having been taken suddenly iU after a dinner at 
which the grand duke's brother, Cardinal Ferdinand, participated." [Partici- 
pated at is good. Here is a smatterer, who pretends to find correctness ( I beg 
pardon, correctness in the main ) in my language, yet cannot write an article, 
occupying in its whole extent about half a column of his miscellany, without mak- 
ing three capital mistakes in his own ; for when he says, in the title of the book, 
"Being a completion of the First volume, &c.", he wrote what I did not. Had I 
60 chosen to phrase the title, I should have said " the completion ; " but it is 
really printed "Being in completion."] " The cardinal was suspected of having 
poisoned them, a view which Mr. Osbom adopts, making the motive consist in 
his unrequited love for Bianca." Etc., etc. [Mr. Osbom never made any such 
thing. He is not a fool, though his cacocritic may be half-a-dozen. But this 
assertion must be deliberate, therefore wUful, misrepresentation, — like that of 
the Nation when it said I made Judas sell his Master to buy Mary Magdalene 



THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 509 



bread and butter. The Cardinal, blinded by revenge -for a supposed injury, the 
most poignant that could be offered to a man of his temper as well as of his posi- 
tion, permits Malocuor, the inventor of that simulated v/rong, to poison both the 
Dnke and Bianca in order to further his the Cardinal's long-brooded ambition. 
A reader of nature, — which is not either the Round Tables waiter or the old 
woman of the Nation, — knows weU that it is often these added stings that give 
the final impulsion to som^ vicious passion, and prompt to a sudden and violen t 
p.ocompUshment what has been the meditated purpose of years.] 

Let US return to the criticism ( so to call it). " Prolixity of dia- 
logue " is hardly reconcileable with " symmetry of plot " and " cor- 
rectness of language and ideas." The dramatist who exhibits these 
striking merits could not easily commit a fault which can exist only 
with one who is ignorant of the requirements of dramatic writing. 
Symmeky of plot, if I understand the phrase, implies strict unity 
of action, and therefore the exclusion of everything that would im- 
pede, or even be unnecessary to, that action. Upon this principle, 
I may be suffered to assert, arc all my dramas founded,* and there- 
fore I shall be found to set aside all the useless, awkward, and 
unnatural train of cooJidants, and persons whose whole business in 
a play is to talk, whether wit or wisdom, and whose intervention- 
does not promote one step the evolution of the plot or the approach 

* I must be forgiven, if, with considerable hesitation, I venture to append from 
Ernestiii (published 1858), the following passage, which I am willing should fur- 
nish the standard whereby my dramas are to be measured, although in fact it 
had reference onlj' to Virginia. 

.... "for the same spirit of truth which guided Emestin in all things else 
made bim shrink, as at sin, from any violation of probabUity in the plot, shaped 
his characters with consistency and exactness, and rendered impossible a want of 
nature in the dialogue ; while the energy, impetuosity, and fire of his disposition, 
which in everything he undertook was ever driving him to the end by the straight- 
est and shortest road and without abatement of speed, saved him from u-relevance 
of mcident and superfluousness of persons, shut out all narrative that was not un- 
avoidable, and made his action and his style rapid, vehement, and nervous." p. 34S. 

This, it may be thought, is high self-praise. But, looking down the not dim 
vista of the future, and seeing what I there see in its far horizon, the single star 
that never sets on my grave, I do not fear to write it, and boldly challenge for it 
the exactest scrutiny. 



510 NOTES TO 



of the catastrophe. And it is on this account I have said above, 
that the 3d Act, tliough introduced with a particular design, spoils 
the present piece. Having too, I well may claim, an absolute devo- 
tion to Nature, sacrificing aU needless description, all poetical adorn- 
ment, where contrary to her requirements, how is it possible that 
my dialogue should be prolix ? Be&ides, the Table knows very well, 
or there is another point deficient in its qualifications, that in every 
play extensive mutilations are made in the dialogue to fit it for the 
Stage.* But the reader shall judge for himself. Bound up in this 
volume, is the Montanini, a drama fitted for performance. If I shall 
be found to have uttered there any five lines in succession that 
could have been spared, I will admit the Table-man is less reckless 
of his assertions in one particular than he appears to be in aU.f 
For the "peculiar woodeuness in the personages": where the 

* Vide passim Inchbald's British Theatre. — I have indicated, myself, some of 
the abbreviations to be made in my own dramas. 

t In the favorite tragedy of Hamlet, which has twenty-two interlocutors, great 
and small, I make out 3483 verses, of aU kinds, counting among them the lines of 
prose dialogue, each of which contains rather more word-matter than a full iam- 
bic verse. In Virginia, which has twenty interlocutors, whereof sixteen have, 
perfectly distinctive characters, there are 1690 verses, 31 of which are marked 
"to be omitted" in the representation. Deducting these, there are but 1659 
verses^ Thus Shakspeare's Hamlet has 1833 verses, or actually one-half, more of 
dialogue than Virginia ! Nay, Bianca Capello, which covers a period of many 
years (being a "romantic" drama) and has thirty-three speakers, great and 
small, contains but 3534 verses all told, or, deducting those marked to be omitted 
( 98 in number, ) 2426 verses, being 1056 ( or nearly one-third ) less than in Hamlet. 

So much for the integrity of this Poh ! where the deliberate misrepresen- 
tation, the crafty mutilation and suppression, the hypocritical depreciation, are 
so prominent characteristics of all the Round Table's notices, beginning with that 
of Virginia, it is but a small matter to find it thus demonstrably fal.se-spoken. 
The reader will however understand that were my books not kept from circula- 
tion, nay virtually suppressed, by the malignant calumnies of such mean pre- 
tenders, I should not extend to them the honors of an argument, and the School 
for Critics would not take the place of pieces which, like the Afontantni, do some- 
thing more than furnish amusement. 



THE SCHOOL FOB CRITICS 511 



proud, yet hypocritical and subtle Cardinal, the crafty, double-deal- 
ing and perfidious Malocuoi-e, the grave, dignified, sensible and hon- 
orable Sennuccio, the impulsive yet gallant Bonaventwi, and Bianca 
■herself, tender, yet spirited and high-minded, are prominent, — where 
even the very Assassins have each his distinctive charactei', and 
there is do one without attribute save Donna Virginia, who is pur- 
posely made so, and is so indicated in the text, — where these and 
others are the persons represented, the man who could dare say that 
must be either ignorant of his trade — I beg pardon, he is perfectly 
master of his trade — ignorant, then, of true criticism, or a wilful 
falsifier. Let him be either or both. Probably as both he is useful 
in a journal which, according to its own modest and truthful account 
of itself in its "s^oratoieoiis growth," "has labored vigorously for 
national literature " and has been " pronounced to be the Ablest Pub- 
hcation of its Class in the United States."* I venture the assertion, 
without any hesitancy ( because I speak after due comparison ), that, 
whatever the defects of my pieces, there are not, in the whole range 
of dramatic writing from JEschylus down, any series of characters 
that are better discriminated, more life-like, and more true to nature 
than my own. 

For the " frigidity of imagination ", I have said enough in the 3d 
Act of this drama, — p. 436, lines 4-7, and p. 438, 11. 12-18. The 
fool or malignant who ventured on that false ascription would, were 
his censure conscientious, exclude Schiller, Alfieri, Corneille from 
the Pantheon of dramatic poets and put Bedlam Swiaburne in its 
principal niche. Tt is the old story. Pope, who, aiming at " cor- 
rectness," had sense for his lodestar and reason for his monitor, is 

* One thing is certain. Either the writer of that article is a born fool, or he is 
a parcel-educated dullard. I had a brief acquaintance with the late Edgar A. Poe. 
On one occasion, when I was speaking of the impopularity of my works, he said to 
me : " We authors, Mr. Osbom, have opinions of our own, and they are in general 
very different from those that are retailed to the public by reviewers." Such is 
my consolation. 



512 NOTES TO 



denied by such men the spirit of a poet : the genuine bards are those 
alone who o-ive rein to their hippogriff and gallop up and down the 
poetical heaven just as the ungovernable mongrel may choose to bear 
them. The first principle of good writing is perspicuity. He whose 
'' imagination " sees clearly will paint clearly, and his words, like 
the colors and the tones of a true painter, will not be of the rainbow, 
nor of the cloud, but pure, distinct, harmonious ; his light and shadow, 
though magical in their attraction, will be nature's own, and his de- 
sign, while free of harshness, in no part vague. The lessons of crit- 
icism seem to be excluded from our schools, or to be forgotten. Yet 
the principles of true art are the same as they were a hundred years 
ago, and will be the same forever, for thej' are founded on nature 
and reason only. "Who are the poets that are still preferred ? For 
one who reads, or better, who has redd Lycophron, there are ten 
thousand who joy in Homer still. How is it then, that that which 
is so much admired in the latter, his simphcity and distinctness, 
should allow of admiration for the glittering fustian of a Talfourd or 
the unintelligible jumble of a Swinburne ? But such writers are not 
really admired, and are never understood. Ic argues perspicacity, 
to pretend to understand them. Omne ignotum pro mirificd : what is 
not intelligible is taken to be wonderful. In the words of my own 
text ( let me be permitted to repeat them : ) 

For fustian maintains a name's illusion 

With man, who is dazzled by word-confusion. 

And finds magnificent and grand 

All that his noddle can't understand, 

And weighty the thoughts from whose tangled skeins 

He fails to draw a conclusion. 

Frigidity of imagination, or of anjiihing else, in me! But the 

impertinent did not believe, and never even thought it. It was a 
tumid phrase of abusive hemi-criticism, and he used its sound, as 
fustianists and magpies do, witliout a meaning. But when I say, 
that lo have used it shows he has frigidity of heart and arctic iciness 



THE SCHOOL FOE CRITICS 513 



of conscience, I speak thoughtfully, and mean ( with allowance for 
the stilted language 1 mimic but to mock) precisely what I say.* 

That the reader might know what these creatures are, and that 
the future may have no trouble to unearth them, I have taken these 
pains to notice what would otherwise be speedily forgotten. The 
day will come when the malignant, envious and perhaps revengeful 
author of that short-sighted article will hide his head for having 
ejected it on such a tragedy as Bianca, as the gentlemen I have ven- 
tured to introduce in the present piece as the interlocutors of Act 
III. will take honor to themselves that they had the sense to feel, 
the taste and culture to understand, and the conscience to express 
their judgment and their feeling, in the case of aU these dramas, 
which not ten thousand fools and maliguants can put down, and 
which shall take their place in my country'^ literature in defiance of 
the neglect of her men of real talent and the studied slight of her 
fifteen-penny criticasters. Living but for truth, as perhaps I shall 
die for it, one great desire of my life is to represent as they are these 
parasites on the fair growth of hterature, to show tliem in their 
actual deformity, their individual insignificance and yet their aggre- 
gate noxiousness. — Let me annex but one remark : 

If anything could increase my disgust, or add to the turpitude of 
the pretentious sheet thus noticed, it is that in the leading article of 
this very Number, it lends its influence to promote the election, to 
the Presidency of this great republic, of a man who was a traitor to 
its unity, and not only the abettor of treason, but who had the base- 
ness to address in_friendly terms the horrible wretches whose hands 
were scarcely dry of the innocent blood with which they had sprinkled 
the ashes of incendiarism and dyed of a more revolting hue the crime 

* I beg leave to refer to a subnote " (4) " in the 3d Appendix to Bianca, The 
melancholy avowal there made would have moved any but the " frigid " nature I 
expose to scorn. Yet the heartless blockhead culled out of it an allusion ( Afler 
my death, when my countrymen may condescend to read these draman, ) where- 
with to make a gnat's sting of the last of his Lilliputian arrows. 



514 NOTES TO 



of burglary. But wliy should I be disgusted? It was meet that the 
false-tongued journal, which in envy, malice, or in downright Igno- 
rance, could lend itself to the overthrow of the temple of true art, 
should look with complacency on treat^on, and find no danger to the 
republic in the advocates or apologists of rebellion and the demagog- 
ism that would truckle to the worst passions of a foreign-born mob. 

17. — P. 440. For he took the pains both pieces to cite In a note to 
his story of Alice. "l Hinc illae lacrymae. Had I kissed the rod, I 
might have counted more sugarplums both for Alice and for Bianca. 
But the temptation to expose the ignorance, the self-assurance, the 
flippant impertinence, the hypocrisj', the mendacity, of these ani- 
mated fungi of literature, was too mighty to resist. So I succumbed, 
without a permit from Doolady. 

18.— P. 442. Val Jean in the Miserables, — Who, liken'd lo Christ 
in the strife for good — ] This is not my comparison. The more 
reverent reader will please liold M. Hugo responsible. 

19. — P. 447. Like Ferdinand Mendez Pinto Dixon Who found, 
etc.] Malice is contagious. Inoculated with the virus of Mr. Hep- 
worth Dixon's slanders, the Vie Parisienne, which the correspondent 
of the N. T. Times ( whence I take the translation ) says is an able 
weekly paper circulating among the better classes of Paris, has the 
audacity to talk as follows : * 

" In conclusion, I hardly dare to speak of a certain trait of American manners, 
it is so delicate ; but I am going to risk it. It appears that there is a house at 
New York, tolerated by the Government [!], where they satisfy the wishes of 
married ladies who do not care for the joys of maternity. A lady, in malting her 
morning calls, tells her friends that on a certain day she had been to the house 
in qnestion, with as much indifference as if it had been a work of charity. Toung 
ladies are also taken into this house to board, who — but I stop, and for a good 
cause. When one reflects that an act which carries the people who commit it so 
far away from France [!] appears quite natural in America, he cannot but have 
a strange opinion of universal morality." July 30, 1867. 



THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS 515 



But for the atrocious advertisements wliich abound in the New- 
York newspapers, in none more than in tlie iV. Y. Times itself, it is 
easy to see that such a wicked absurditj', wherein combine the ig- 
norance, the malice, and the self-conceit, that distinguish in literary 
matters the " ingenious gentlemen " of the Bound Table, could never 
have been concocted. But if not purely the invention of the writers 
in either case, they have been the victims of a well-known danger- 
ous humor among our people, — that of bantering supercilious 
strangers, and stufQng their ears with all sorts of libels against 
themselves. This has been recognized by aU of us as practiced on 
all the note-taking travelers, beginning with Mrs. Trollope and inclu- 
ding the cockney Dickens. 

I may add, that the most impertinent of the transgressions of 
these Munchausens is their pretence of describing the most refined 
society among us as if they were familiar with it, whereas I have 
never been able to discover that they were in it at all ; not at least 
in New York. 

20. — P. 449. Save one divine article Of which not a particle 
Shall be lost to the last of the Yankees begotten.] See above. Note 8, 
where it will be found preserved, like the fly in amber. 

21. — P. 453. — skedaddled — ] See next note. 

22. — P. 459. — vamos'd the ranch I] A. mongrel cant phrase 
prevalent in the South-west. Vamos is the Spanish for Allons ! 
Come ! and ranche is a corruption of rancho, or rancheria, which in 
the Mexican-Spanish of California appears to be used to signify a 
farm, although in the Castiliau application of the word ( mess, or 
mess-room ) the composition is intelligible. The phrase is therefore 
equivalent to the kindred elegancies, absquatulated — " skedaddled " 
— and the Enghsh, as well as American, "cut stick." All of which 
niceties we gather from the newspapers, if they teach us nothing 



516 NOTES TO 



else ; and for which, as they are characteristic of our hero S. M., 
and his congeners, let us be thankful. 

23. — P. 462. But dotes on Walt Whitman^s hatracliian fire — ] 

" Walt 'Wliitman's 'Carol of Harvest, for 1867,' is a very unequal production. 
The opening stanzas are ove7jloiDing with poetic feeling, and their rythm is sweet 
and mwncal. How tender its the pathos of these lines : 

* * * * 

Pass — pass, ye proud brigades ! 
So handsome, dress'd in blue — with your tramping, sinewy legs ; 

Pass ; — then rattle, drums, again 1 

Scream, you steamers on the river, out of whistles loud and shrill, your salutes 1 

For an army heaves in sight — another gathering army ! 

Swarming, trailing on the rear — you dread accruing army ! 

O you regiments so piteous, with your mortal diarrhoea 1 with your fevers ! 

my land's maimed darUngs ! with the plenteous bloody bandage and the crutch I 

Lo 1 your pallid army follow'd 1 

But on these days of brightness. 

On the far-stretching beauteous landscape, the roads and lanes, the high-piled 

farm-wagons, and the fruits and bams. 
Shall the dead intrude ? 

Melt, melt away, ye armies ! disperse, ye blue-clad soldiers ! M 

Kesolve ye back again — give up, for good, your deadly arms ; 
Other the arms, the fields henceforth for you, or South or North, or East or West, 
With saner war — sweet wars — life-giving wars. 

" But the foUowiag passage " (says the criticaster tenderly) . . . ^^ reads more 
like an extract from an agricultural report than poetry : 
« « * 

The engines, thrashers of grain, and cleaners of grain, well separating the straw, 
The power-hoes for corn fields — the nimble work of the patent pitchfork ; 
Beholdest the newer saw-mill, the cotton-gin, and the rice-cleanser." 
— N. Y. Times, Aug. 26, 1807. 

After that, the honest and capable criticizer notices some of Mr. 
Tilton's always rythmical verses, aud says, "Such verses might be 



THE SCHOOL FOE CRITICS 517 



written hy the yard, and kept on liand to le cut into pieces of right [the 
right] length to fill out a page." Where it will be seen that the 
ignoramus has uttered what, barring its bad English, might be rea- 
sonably applied to Mr. "Whitman's measures. 

24.— P. 466. — at Willis'.] Almack's. 

25. — P. 482. ITe may rank with New England's best] Some per- 
sons may think this is not paying him a very great compliment. 
However that may be, it is a just one. But to pick out the child's 
trifle, and pass over all the well melodized and often nervous poems 
that precede it, was quite after the fashion of newspaper and maga- 
zine witlings, where they have a personal animosity, and is notably 
Fledgling, 

26. — P. 485. " Hanging to dry."] Of so brief a quotation, it is not 
always easy to trace the source, and consequently to explain the al- 
lusion. We are able to do this in the present case, only by going to 
the familiar associations of the Hotchpot Cryer. Deadhead had pro- 
bably in' the cleanly chambers of his memory one of those exhilara- 
ting volumes — Fescennini versus, which are kept under the tables 
of the market peddlers and sold with great mystery to schoolboys 
and servant-maids. 



END OF THE FOURTH VOLUME. 



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